The Thief Who Lived
by OtherTales21
Summary: Thief Lord crossover. The world believes Harry Potter died that fateful Halloween night he defeated Voldemort. Now ten years later, a young boy with a lightning scar who calls himself the Thief Lord is entering his first year at Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, everyone! This is an idea that has been bugging me for ages ever since I came across this neat little one-shot: **** s/3284429/1/I-Believe-You****.**

**This is my project for NaNoWriMo and I'm always looking for feedback even though I won't really get around to editing things properly until after I finish for the month. Still, please let me know of anything that needs to be fixed so I can do it later on. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the story.**

**I don't own **_**Thief Lord**_** or **_**Harry Potter**_**.**

**Word count: 2970**

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Scipio Massimo's ears felt cold.

For the hundredth time so far, he carefully ran his hand through his shortened, raven hair. Gone was the silky mane he'd been trying to grow for the past year—now it was nothing more than a messy mop on his head with the unruly tendrils falling over his forehead because he hadn't bothered to brush it this morning. Maybe his mom could force him to get a haircut just before he went off to school, but she couldn't make him keep it neat.

Seeing the disapproving look on his father's face during the silent and awkward breakfast was an added bonus. Staring out the window, Scipio still couldn't believe this was all really happening. And so fast too.

His eleventh birthday hadn't been all that long ago when he had dashed downstairs to find the Hogwarts letter he'd been waiting for ever since his mom had explained to him that she was a witch. The letter sat there in place of the blank birthday card he usually received from his father, who was always away on business whenever Scipio's birthday came around. But Scipio didn't care about that as he read the letter over and over again, his heart pounding with excitement the whole time.

He was finally off to Hogwarts! Granted, he still didn't know what to expect since his mother hadn't answered any of his questions when they were in Diagon Alley buying his school supplies.

"When I was at Hogwarts, I was in Ravenclaw, which is where I hope you'll end up too. Come on, Scipio, don't stand there gawping at everything. It's quite embarrassing when you do that." This was all she had said to him and it was all he knew about the wizarding world in the eleven years he'd been anxiously waiting for the day his letter would come.

And his father was no help at all, being the upstanding Dottore Massimo who wouldn't be caught dead with any trace of such hoi polloi in his mansion.

The one time Scipio had tried asking his father about magic earned him a sharp slap across the face and the elder Massimo screaming at him to never mention such nonsense in their home ever again.

It was a harsh lesson learned, but effective nonetheless and Scipio never brought up the 'm-word' around Fondamenta Bollani 223 ever again. All his curiosity and yearning for a magical adventure had been silenced and bottled up in the luxurious prison, only set free in his imagination as he lay in bed each night wondering what amazing things waited for him in London when he finally turned eleven. The thirty-first of July could not have come soon enough, bringing with it his Hogwarts letter, his mother and her Floo powder, and his freedom.

And yet he was already missing the afternoons he could spend dodging his lessons to explore the maze-like alleyways of Venice and playing with the stray cats he found there.

What's more, he couldn't forget about the friends—Riccio, Hornet, and Mosca—he'd left behind in the abandoned Star-Palace theatre.

If he thought about it too much, it had been a really impulsive thing to do—offering to take care of three orphans close to his own age when he was going to spend most of the year away at school. He didn't have a job, he couldn't perform any magic, and he was still just a kid.

It was completely mad! But still…he couldn't deny that he kind of enjoyed the responsibility. It made him feel more grown up and less like a spoiled rich kid who only had to hide in his father's pockets in order for all of his problems to be solved. He liked the feeling that he was actually doing something worthwhile yet secretive right under his father's very nose. This was something much more forbidden and exciting than stealing a stupid trophy out of the dottor's study and putting it somewhere else for a few hours so his father could blame and yell at all the servants until he went hoarse.

And besides, he'd already managed to give mattresses, blankets, and clothes to the kids to get comfortable, and then a couple of his galleons for them to take to the sticky-fingered redbeard shop owner, Barbarossa, and trade it for enough money that would hopefully last at least a few months. After that, he would worry about what to do next.

With a decisive nod to himself, Scipio let his mind wander back to the familiar daydreams of magic as the bright, countryside scenery passed by in a green blur that nearly matched his eager green eyes.

His eyes were his most favorite thing about himself. It should've been the thin lightning bolt scar stamped just over his right eyebrow, but he was glad he didn't have his father's dark, indifferent eyes or his mother's haughty, hazel ones. Other than that, he resembled his father in every way from his thin, but youthfully handsome face to his slim build.

As for the scar—well, Riccio couldn't stop staring at it and going on and on about how cool it was. He also must've asked Scipio at least a hundred times where it came from, and Scipio's answer was always the same:

"Shut up, Riccio. I told you, I got into a bit of a scrape with an old client of mine and he tried to gut me open. Instead, he cut my forehead just before I kicked his feet from under him and disappeared into the night. I am the Thief Lord, aren't I?"

Scipio, the Thief Lord.

Out in the slick streets where he felt brave and free knowing more about the infinite nooks and crannies of the city than his parents ever would, he could be whoever he wanted instead of the young Master Massimo. And he had chosen to be the Thief Lord, an elusive crusader of the night and the leader of a band of young thieves.

He'd told the kids he was just like them—an orphan surviving on his own by stealing priceless treasures from oblivious grownups. While it was partly true, the words had tumbled out of his mouth before he'd even realized it. The small twinge of guilt that he'd felt for lying evaporated as soon as the suspicious glare from Riccio turned into one of complete awe, and the worried looks on Hornet's and Mosca's faces melted into hopeful ones. They'd needed a hand and that was all that had mattered at the time. He would tell them the truth later once they were settled. But as he brought them more and more things, he realized that he could never tell them. They needed him to be the Thief Lord.

_God, but what if they do find out? I'm just some…whiny rich kid trying to escape my life, my parents, everything…_

Scipio couldn't help the shudder that made him sink lower into his seat. No way. He would never let that happen. Ever.

"Um, are you ok?"

It was a quiet, polite voice that had spoken, but it was still loud enough to jerk the young Scipio out of his thoughts and to his feet with a startled yelp.

Standing at the door to his compartment was a boy his own age with wavy, dark brown hair, blue eyes—that met Scipio's for the briefest of seconds before looking away—and his school robes already on top of his normal clothes. Even though he was asking to join Scipio, he seemed tense with instinctive suspicion. After taking all this in, Scipio bristled and straightened his posture so he stood a little taller than the other boy.

"What's the big idea? Sneaking up on me like that?"

The boy looked taken aback by the less-than-pleasant greeting, but quickly recovered enough to frown at him.

"I didn't sneak up on you, all right?" he retorted carefully, looking rather uncomfortable like he was concentrating hard on his words. "I tried calling you three times already to ask if I could sit here with you. I can't find anywhere else."

"Well, I…I didn't hear you then," Scipio snapped huffily, determined not to look like he'd nearly jumped out of his skin. "Who are you anyway? You look like you're in your first year," he demanded.

The other boy bristled at the bossy tone, but only gave Scipio an even look as he answered,

"I'm Prosper Lawson, and by the looks of you, you're a first-year too."

Scipio gave a quick nod. "That's right. I'm Scipio Massimo and I'm going to be in Ravenclaw…er, I think so anyway."

He knew there were four Houses at Hogwarts, but he didn't know much about the other three. And since his mom had been in Ravenclaw, it seemed like it would make sense if he ended up there too. He had yet to decide how he felt about that, but he didn't want to look too clueless in front of all these other kids who, unlike him, got to grow up with magic.

"Oh, um, that's cool," Prosper replied at last. "Um…I guess I'm going to be in Gryffindor. At least, I hope so."

_Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Ok, that's two I know about now…so what about the others?_

"Why do you want Gryffindor? What's wrong with the other Houses?" Scipio sat back down and gestured to the seat across from him. "Yeah, you can sit. There's no one else in here."

Prosper's apprehensive face seemed to relax some and he closed the compartment door behind him.

"Well, my mom was in Gryffindor and she says it's for the brave and daring. Ravenclaw's cool too, but I never did get the best grades in elementary school and that House is supposed to be for geniuses, I think. I wouldn't mind Hufflepuff, because just about anyone can get in there. But no way would I ever go in Slytherin. Mom would have a heart attack," Prosper explained, which surprised Scipio at how talkative he'd suddenly become.

"What's wrong with Slytherin?" Scipio blurted before he could stop himself.

At this, Prosper's eyes widened and he leaned forward, which prompted Scipio to do the same as his hands anxiously gripped at his jeans.

"From what I've heard, everybody who goes into Slytherin turns into a dark wizard. A lot of the kids in there probably practice dark magic before they graduate. And that's the house You-Know-Who was in all those years ago," Prosper said slowly.

"Who?"

"You-Know-Who, that's who."

"No, I don't know who. _Who_ are you talking about?" Scipio demanded again.

The incredulous look on Prosper's face suddenly made him realize that he had probably just asked a stupid question, but now he was much too eager to hear the answer to care.

"You can't be serious!" Prosper exclaimed. "Everybody knows about You-Know-Who."

"How the hell can they if you never even say his name?" Scipio nearly shouted, starting to get frustrated with this kid.

Prosper only looked at him, frozen with disbelief. He finally started to open his mouth, but before any words came out, their compartment door slid open to a plump, grey-haired woman smiling at them from behind a trolley stacked with food.

"Would you boys like something to eat?" she asked sweetly.

"Um, yeah, sure," Scipio grumbled, now feeling a little embarrassed by his outburst.

No one was ever going to take him seriously as a wizard if he kept acting like some ignorant twerp, which he was in danger of doing again now that he had to choose from this pile of food that seemed to have all kinds of sweets he'd never seen in his life.

"I'll have the Cauldron Cake, a Bertie Bott's, and several of those chocolate frogs," he said with exaggerated confidence, determined not to slip up again.

He paid for his snacks and waited for Prosper to do the same before the lady was on her way again and leaving the two of them alone at last.

"You don't know much about our world, do you? Are you muggleborn?" Prosper asked finally.

"No way! I'm a half-blood," Scipio retorted quickly. "And I know enough. It's just that…my mom never told me much about You-Know-Who…"

_Heck, she's never told me_ _anything._ _She's everywhere except at home,_ his mind added bitterly.

"Oh…well, I guess I can't blame her for that. My mom never talks about him without getting goosebumps on her arms," said Prosper.

"Right, 'cause he's pretty evil," Scipio added in matter-of-factly.

Seeing Prosper's fervent nod made him feel a little relieved that he'd said the right thing as he took a bite of his Cauldron Cake.

"He was the most dangerous wizard ever. He controlled hundreds of dark wizards and monsters and used them to attack everyone. But then he was defeated ten years ago by a baby named Harry Potter," said Prosper. "You've had to at least heard of Harry Potter, right?"

Scipio started to laugh, expecting his companion to join him, but Prosper looked quite serious as he waited for an answer.

_He can't be serious. A baby who beat up a dangerous wizard? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard._

"Well, of course I have," Scipio answered, almost looking offended. "It's pretty…crazy, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, no one's ever heard of the Killing Curse backfiring before. And as for Harry…well, if you think about it, if he was still alive, he'd be a first year like us." Prosper popped a Bertie Bott's bean into his mouth.

"And what happened to You-Know-Who exactly?" Scipio asked.

"He died at the same time as Harry, but here's the thing: they were never found. You-Know-Who must've put a lot of power into his curse that their bodies were blown up. Only Harry's parents' bodies were left behind in the ruins." Prosper flopped back against his seat and then there was a knock on the door and a round-faced boy poked his head inside. He was blubbering so much that they could hardly understand a word he was saying.

"I-I've lost my t-toad!" he wailed. "Have you s-seen him?"

They shook their heads, which, if possible, seemed to make him look even more miserable as he closed the door and trudged off.

Prosper watched him leave, feeling a little sorry for the poor kid, but a strange croaking sound caught his attention.

"Scipio, did you hear—_where in the world did you get that_?" he cried out, jumping slightly at the sight of the large, lumpy creature Scipio was balancing in his hands.

"I grabbed him not long after I got on the train," Scipio answered loftily as he juggled the toad between his two hands. "He's been under my seat the whole time and you never noticed." He laughed at this as Prosper's face looked more and more dumbfounded.

"B-But d'you mean it's that boy's toad?" Prosper's heart leapt into his throat when Scipio tossed the toad even higher into the air and caught it with one hand. "Be careful with that!" he yelped. "Why'd you take it from him anyway?"

"Relax, Prosper, it's just a joke." Scipio didn't even bother to hide how pleased he was with himself at the moment.

Just because he was going off to become a wizard didn't mean he was going to let his sneaking and stealing skills get rusty. He was the Thief Lord after all.

"Scipio, that's not funny!" Prosper said more forcefully this time. "You should really—"

"All right, all right. I'll give it back to him later, ok?" Scipio said, somewhat miffed that his fun had been ruined. "Anyway, I've changed my mind. I'm going to be in Gryffindor instead," he announced proudly.

"Gryffindor? That's where I want to be."

Their compartment door slid open again; it was the toadless boy again, but this time a girl with bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth was with him. Prosper's first thought was that her tone sounded bossier than Scipio's.

"It sounds like the best House so far and it's also the one Headmaster Dumbledore's was in. I've read as much as I could about the school and memorized all my textbooks. I so hope it will be enough because no one else in my family is magic at all and I don't want to fall behind—I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, and this is Neville Longbottom."

She said all of this in one breath that Scipio found his head swimming from trying to process all of her words, even though he could speak English fluently as a second language. Through the corner of his eye, he saw that Prosper had a very stunned look on his face.

"Trevor!" Neville cried, stumbling inside to pluck his pet from Scipio's hands. "Thanks for finding him!"

"Oh, uh, yeah…no problem. I was just about to come and find you," Scipio replied smoothly, pretending not to see Prosper's disapproving frown on his back. "I'm Scipio Massimo."

"Prosper Lawson."

"You know, we'll be arriving at Hogwarts soon," said Hermione, "you really ought to change into your robes and probably clean up all these sweets you've thrown about." She eyed the messy compartment with disdain. "Come on, Neville, let's get going."

With her school robes flowing behind her, Hermione Granger left with Neville trotting behind her.

"You'd think she was our mother or something, bossing us around like that," Prosper muttered.

"No kidding. There's no way someone like _her_ could get into Gryffindor." Rolling his eyes, Scipio stood up to close the compartment door the sniffy girl had left open, but not before sneaking one last glimpse of her as she marched down the corridor. His stomach gave a funny jolt, but he ignored the feeling and went back to his seat.

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**And there's the first part! I will probably upload again by next week, so stick around!**


	2. Chapter 2

**** If anyone catches any errors, let me know. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! And a big thanks to my first two reviewers/alerters.**

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"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall greeted the sea of jittery first years. "Before we begin the start-of-term feast, you must all be sorted into your respective houses…"

As McGonagall droned on about the rules, Scipio nervously ran his fingers through his hair again in a vain attempt to smooth it down. Then someone nudged him from behind.

"Are you nervous?" Prosper whispered, coming up beside him. He had a shaky grin on his face

"Of course not!" Scipio hissed back impatiently. "I'm just making sure I look presentable. First impressions are everything and…what is it?"

Prosper shook off the surprised look on his face and pointed at Scipio's forehead. "Sorry," he mumbled, "I didn't mean to stare, but your scar…" He paused and looked over his shoulder, only to see that McGonagall, after finishing her speech, had disappeared momentarily, leaving the wide-eyed first years alone in the corridor with the ghosts.

Scipio shrugged. "What? This thing? I just got it in a knife fi—" He stopped himself just in time.

"Got it in a what?" Prosper asked keenly.

Scipio mentally scolded himself for nearly giving away his secret identity. "Er…nothing…I've just had it all my life, that's all," he murmured at last.

Unlike with Riccio, this was the truth; while it was a much more boring explanation, it did feel nice to know that he didn't have to make up any fantastic tales about himself with his new friend.

"And I read that there are one hundred and forty-two _moving_ staircases here. It was all in my _Hogwarts, A History_ book. You really ought to have read it by now," came Hermione's snooty voice floating over the chattering amongst the students.

Peeking in between the crowds, Scipio saw her lecturing Neville and about three other dumbfounded kids.

A while later, McGonagall returned to lead them all into the Great Hall. The cavernous room was packed with cheering students, divided by four long tables, and brightly lit by hundreds of candles floating in midair. The staff table was off to the right with all of the adults sitting there watching a stool that had a dusty old hat resting on top, motionless.

Suddenly, it split open and began to sing. Scipio and Prosper were too busy trying not to laugh out loud to pay attention to its song, but they immediately sobered up when McGonagall began calling names for the sorting.

_This is it_, Scipio thought. _This is really happening._

His hands starting trembling at his sides and the only way he could hide was by clapping for the students who were sorted.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Finnegan, Seamus!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Granger, Hermione!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Scipio groaned while Prosper clapped rather unenthusiastically. One by one McGonagall called each student to be sorted, until she finally called,

"Lawson, Prosper!"

Scipio had to nudge his friend hard enough that it unfroze him from looking like a deer in headlights and sent him on his way towards the front.

***~X~X~***

Prosper could remember how sure of himself he had sounded when he'd told Scipio what House he wanted to be in back on the Express. Yet as he approached the stern witch, his knees were shaking horribly and he expected the hat to shout out that it couldn't Sort him before it had even touch his head. Nonetheless, he sat on the stool only to nearly fall off when a small voice spoke.

"Easy there, Lawson, you worry too much. Now let me see where you ought to be sorted…"

_Please say Gryffindor…please say Gryffindor…_

"Gryffindor, eh? You do have a strong sense of right and wrong for one so young. And it's very brave of you to take on so much responsibility what with your frail mother and little brother…"

_Mom's not frail! _Prosper's mind yelled. He'd nearly shouted this out loud. _She's…she's just tired from work. She'll be fine…Darn it!_

Prosper took a deep breath to somehow ease the sickening twist he felt in his stomach. It didn't help that his eyes were stinging with the threat of tears.

"And yet you might be too softhearted to ever act on your bravery," the Sorting Hat went on, paying no mind to the boy's whirling emotions. "Hufflepuff might be better…All right, m'boy, I think I'll say…GRYFFINDOR!"

Prosper only had a split second to realize that he'd been Sorted when the Hat came off his head and the chorus of cheers and applause from his new housemates assaulted his ears. Doing his best to push the troubling thoughts away, he hurried over to the Gryffindor table to wait and see where Scipio would end up.

***~X~X~***

"Malfoy, Draco!"

"SLYHERIN!"

"Massimo, Scipio!"

Taking a deep breath, Scipio made his way over to where the deputy headmistress stood holding the talking hat that would decide what House he would be in.

Now that it was his turn, he didn't know whether to be excited or nervous anymore. If nothing else, he was thankful that the hat was too big for his head and fell over his eyes so he wouldn't have to see hundreds of others staring at him like he was in the circus.

"Hmm, Massimo, eh? You're an interesting one, boy." Scipio jumped at the voice that spoke in his head, his knees starting to tremble.

"Very sneaky, you are, that Slytherin wouldn't be a bad match for you—"

_No way! I'm going to be in Gryffindor! _Scipio's mind cried out as he gripped the edges of the stool.

"Gryffindor is what you want, boy? Are you sure? You're so good at keeping secrets, Mr. Thief Lord, even secrets that you don't realize yourself yet. You could do great things in Slytherin."

_No! You can't tell anyone about that, you bloody hat! I mean it!_

"Now, now, no need to get upset. I'm just trying to Sort you properly. And now that I've made up my mind, I think you'd best go to GRYFFINDOR!"

Scipio almost fell over with relief, but the Great Hall came back into view where he saw the Gryffindor table clapping wildly and Prosper waving him over. Somehow, his shaky legs hurried him over to the spot next to his friend.

"We did it, Scipio! We're in Gryffindor! Man, my little brother, Bo, would love this place!" Now Prosper was talking almost as fast as Hermione.

As soon as the sorting had ended with "Zabini, Blaise!" going to Slytherin, a tall, wizened man with an impressive silver beard stood up and cleared his throat.

"Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts!" he said, smiling kindly with twinkling blue eyes shielded behind a pair of half-moon glasses. "I have but a few words to say before we begin our feast: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! And Tweak!"

The man adjusted his fine purple robes and then sat back down. Scipio burst into laughter only to receive a stern glare from Hermione.

"It's very rude to laugh at the headmaster like that," she snapped.

Scipio opened his mouth to argue, but found that he was too surprised to say anything. That crazy old man was their headmaster?

_This place keeps getting weirder and weirder._

His musings were confirmed when food started popping up on the tables and the silvery ghosts floated into the Great Hall, which only added to the excitement.

"But Dumble'ore isf a bif mad, isshun he?" countered the redheaded boy, Ron Weasley, who was another first year to be sorted into Gryffindor.

"Even so, Ron, he is the greatest wizard of all time. The only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of," said an older redhead boy with his nose sticking high in the air. "And don't talk with your mouth full."

_They must be brothers_, Scipio decided as he reached for some potatoes.

He spent most of the feast listening to the conversations around him and trying to learn as much as he could, but there were so many weird things being talked about all at once that he couldn't decide which one to pay attention to. Then he looked up at the ceiling, which was enchanted to look like the nighttime sky. He wondered if he'd be able to steal some of the candles to send back to the Star-Palace. He hadn't managed to figure out how to get the electricity up and running again before leaving, even though Mosca claimed he was good at fixing things.

"Who's that man with the turban?" he heard Prosper ask someone.

He turned his attention to the staff table and saw a quivering little man fidgeting with his fork.

"That's Professor Quirrel," the snooty redhead boy answered. "He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts this year."

Quirrel turned in his seat to say something to a greasy-haired man with sallow skin and a hooked nose. At some point in the middle of their private conversation, the man's black eyes flicked over and locked gazes with Scipio's for the briefest of seconds.

"Ow!"

"Scipio? What's wrong?"

Scipio didn't answer Prosper as he waited for the searing pain in his head to go away. It felt like someone had jabbed a fire poker at him, aiming only for his lightning bolt scar which he massaged with the palm of his hand.

_What the heck? This has never happened before…_

He stared at his plate, trying to will the pain away with all his might, and when it finally did subside, he let out a deep breath.

"Scipio?" Prosper said a little more gently this time, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"I'm ok," Scipio answered with a forced calmness. "Just a headache is all."

"You sure?"

Scipio nodded. "Who's that other man beside Quirrel?"

"That's Professor Snape, the Potions teacher," answered one of two identical redheaded twin boys. "He's a right old bastard, isn't he, George?"

"Of course, Fred," said the other one.

"Fred! George! Watch you mouths or I'm telling Mom!" snapped the bossy redhead from before.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Percy Prefect."

"There sure are a lot of redheads here," Prosper muttered to Scipio.

Scipio absently agreed, but his mind was still reeling from that wave of pain and the mental image of Snape's black eyes piercing into him. He chanced a quick look through the corner of his eye, but Snape had already gone back to eating his meal, completely apathetic to the festivities going on around him or Dumbledore's later announcement about the dangerous third floor corridor.

"But now, let us sing the school song!" the headmaster announced cheerfully. "All together now…"

A clamor of mismatched voices, all singing different tunes as loud as they could, filled the dining hall and bounced off the walls until the end of the song.

The bustling crowd of students gradually dispersed as the prefects from the different Houses led the way to their individual, secret entrances.

After a bit of a hike—climbing several flights of the moving staircases and walking by walls cluttered with talking paintings—the Gryffindors stepped through a large portrait of a fat woman. The red and gold common was amazingly warm and comfortable that the armchairs near the fireplace were claimed in no time by the older students.

"Come on, Scipio, let's go find our room," Prosper said, already on his way up a set of winding stairs.

Scipio hurried after him, now feeling more excited than ever. He was finally here! Far away from his father, the boring dinner parties where he had to pretend he was the perfect son, and the lonely mansion.

With a huge grin on his face, Scipio threw himself onto a vacant four-poster bed and let the chatter between his four roommates lull him to sleep.

***~X~X~***

The next morning, Scipio jumped out of bed the moment the sun was up to shake Prosper awake for their first day of lessons. Instead he found a fat gray rat that was chewing on the bed sheets.

"AAARRGH!" Scipio screamed diving back onto his own bed. "Someone kill it! It's got fleas and the bubonic plague!"

But to his irritation, his roommates, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, were too busy trying to hide their laughter while Ron scooped the rat off the bed.

"There you are, Scabbers," he grumbled. "Useless rat…"

"That _thing_ is yours?" Scipio said incredulously, not making any move to get off his bed.

Ron bristled at this and held the rat closer. "Yeah, so? He was Percy's rat first, but Mum and Dad couldn't aff—I mean, I got Scabbers for my first year here," he snapped defensively, his ears turning as red as his hair. "Anyway, you don't have to be scared of him. He sleeps all the time—"

"I'm _not_ scared of that thing! Just keep it away from me."

With his face burning bright red, Scipio pushed himself off his bed and hastily threw on his t-shirt and jeans, the excitement slowly ebbing back into his body since his father had never allowed him to wear such casual clothing in his entire life.

"Only urchins wear those tasteless garbs. You are a Massimo and you will dress appropriately. Now wipe that stubborn look off your face, it makes you look stupid," the dottor always said.

It wasn't until his mother came back and insisted that he had to dress like the other kids.

"I daresay your father would be even less pleased if you came back with all of your nice clothes covered in dragon dung from your Herbology class," she'd said.

But Scipio didn't care about the reason, he was just glad to finally wear something other than the stiff khakis and silk vests that made him look like some kind of pin-up doll.

Jeans and sneakers are much easier to move around in, he mused to himself as he hurried down the stairs to the common room. As his foot touched the last step, a figure suddenly popped up in front of him.

"Prosper!" he cried, nearly falling backwards. "Where were you?"

Prosper, already dressed and ready for class, held up a piece of parchment. "I was so excited I couldn't sleep, so I got up early to write a letter to my mom and Bo," he said.

The two climbed out of the portrait hole and headed down the bright corridor where they met students from the other houses heading to breakfast in the Great Hall.

"How are you going to mail it? I haven't seen a post box or anything so far," said Scipio as they took their seats at Gryffindor table.

Prosper gave him an incredulous look. "By owl of course," he answered, "I'll take it up to the owlery later on, I guess."

Scipio frowned and was about to ask why in the world anyone would rely on an owl for mail delivery but stopped when hundreds of owls swooped in, some bringing letters and packages to students.

"Whoa," he breathed, wide-eyed. His awe only lasted for a second before he shot up in his seat. "Why don't we just go mail it now?"

"But, Scipio, we've got class soon," Prosper protested, sprinkling sugar over his oatmeal.

"Yeah, but not for another thirty minutes. Come on, it won't take that long, right?"

Prosper bit his lip and tried to remember the directions Percy had given him earlier. His mom had warned him not to get on any of the teachers' bad side by being tardy, but he still really wanted to send her his letter. Glancing at his watch, he conceded.

"Well…all right then."

"Can I come too?" It was Neville, who was scooting closer to them. "I have no idea how to get to any of my classes and I don't want to get into trouble."

"I don't think that's a very good idea," came a new voice—Hermione. "It won't do to be late on our first day by wandering off. Besides, I'm sure Professor McGonagall could offer you a map of some—"

"_OKAY_, Prosper! I think the table's getting a little too crowded for us to have a decent breakfast. Let's _go_," Scipio cut in abruptly, snatching up Prosper's letter.

"Hey, Scipio! Wait up!" Prosper cried.

Neville stumbled after them. "Yeah! Don't forget about me!"

***~X~X~***

After climbing several flights of moving stairs and narrowly escaping the castle's caretaker, Filch, who had caught them on the forbidden third floor corridor, the three boys finally found the Owlery. Located at the top of the West Tower, it was a circular room where owls returning from the Great Hall sat on perches just above their heads. It was cold and drafty, because the windows had no glass, and the floor was covered with straw, owl droppings, and scattered skeletons of regurgitated rodents. Prosper gently coaxed a tan and grey, speckled barn owl over to his arm where he fidgeted to tie his note to the bird's leg.

"This is Kaspar," he explained to Scipio and Neville. "My mum got him for my birthday."

At the introduction, Kaspar puffed out his chest with a dignified hoot. Scipio watched this whole scene with incredulous curiosity

"That thing? He's going to fly your letter all the way back to your house and here again?"

Both Prosper and Kaspar shot him a rather annoyed look, but of course it was up to Prosper to defend the talents of his pet.

"Don't be fooled, Scipio. Kaspar's pretty fast, even the man who raised him didn't want to give him up. Just wait and see."

With that, Kaspar leapt up and glided through one of the windows, disappearing from the boys' view in less than five minutes.

_This is it!_ Scipio wanted to cry out with excitement. This was how he could take care of Riccio, Mosca, and Hornet from all the way over here! He could mail letters or galleons or anything else they might need with no problem.

The Thief Lord was back in business.

Then Prosper's voice brought him back to reality as he and Neville were already leaving now that Kaspar was long gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks to:**

**Nimrodel626, Lunainthetardis22, TevilAG, DoctorWho41, GBTtown, and TevilAG. You guys rock as does everyone who stops by to read! I seriously appreciate it!**

**Oh, and in case it hasn't been apparent, my goal is to update every Tuesday (most likely evenings). If something changes this, I'll be sure to mention it beforehand or at least offer groveling apologies.**

**Word count: 3128**

* * *

The first week of school found Scipio gradually falling into a somewhat normal routine around the castle.

He had quickly learned that McGonagall was not the kind of teacher you tested the limits with as she would not hesitate to take points away from her own House. Her subject, Transfiguration, was also not an easy one, requiring much reading and note-taking that it drove Scipio crazy he couldn't yet cast his first spell. This feeling was only worsened when he overheard Hermione boasting about all the simple spells she had tried that had worked for her. He would've liked to believe that she was just showing off, but he found out in Professor Flitwick's Charms class that she actually was quite good whereas his first attempt at a spell had caused Seamus Finnegan's textbook to fly off his desk and nearly smack the professor in the head.

"No harm done, Mr. Massimo," the tiny man chortled kindly. "At least you didn't set anything on fire."

Scipio tried to feel comforted by the man's good nature, but his embarrassment didn't make him try again for the rest of the class period.

It looked like being a wizard was going to be harder than he thought.

"At least Professor Flitwick didn't take away the points I'd earned at the beginning," Hermione said to her roommates as they all left the classroom.

Wanting to take his frustration out on somebody, Scipio whirled on her with a biting comment ready, but Ron beat him to it.

"Gee, that's a comforting thought. I'm sure we can all rest easy now," he said irritably, and then strode off with Seamus and Dean.

Scipio figured that Ron was just as annoyed with her for the way she'd nagged him about his stiff wrist movement the whole time in class; the disgruntled pout on her face was more than worth it.

There was History of Magic, which was tortuously boring thanks to the ghost Professor Binns. Even Prosper, who took his studies almost as seriously as Hermione, soon succumbed to the professor's monotonous lectures and dozed off right next to Scipio.

Astronomy on Wednesday night was fun and the closest thing that reminded Scipio of his late-night adventures as the Thief Lord. It was kind of strange walking around the castle at night when the hallways were void of the usual excitement and bustling of students, but still fascinating enough that Scipio wished he could explore more.

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Quirrel was a total joke that it left Scipio and Prosper skimming ahead in their textbooks to find cool spells they could try in their free time to distract themselves from the garlic-y smell of the classroom and Quirrel's constant stuttering.

Next was Herbology three times a week with a squat witch called Professor Sprout where they learned how to take care of bizarre plants that could move, shoot pus, or strangle you if you didn't keep an eye on them. It was ok and just about everybody could do well in it, even Neville Longbottom, who seemed to be oddly prone towards accidents. This was further proven on Friday during the first double Potions class. Scipio had almost considered skipping out, not wanting to experience that awful pain shooting through his skull again, but Prosper had dragged him out of Gryffindor Tower with all their potions equipment in tow.

"From what I heard," came his friend's reasoning, "Snape can turn pretty nasty, so let's not tick him off anytime soon."

That didn't make Scipio any more excited about the lesson and he practically held his breath the second he entered the cold dungeon. But the pain never came.

Not even when Snape came gliding into the room like a giant, black bat and calling the students—Gryffindors and Slytherins—dunderheads before he had even taken roll call.

"What's the matter with you?" Prosper hissed, elbowing Scipio in the side. He was worried when he saw how tightly Scipio was gripping the edge of their worktable.

"N-Nothing. Quit nudging me—"

"Massimo! Lawson! Silence! Three points from Gryffindor!"

The two boys snapped to attention and saw the potions master fixing them with a narrowed gaze. Forgetting his worry about his scar, Scipio couldn't stop himself from scowling. They hadn't even been talking that loud!

The lesson only got worse and slowly, Scipio's earlier dread was being replaced by simple loathing for the greasy professor. As the students set to work on a potion for curing boils, Snape seemed determine to criticize all of them except Draco Malfoy, a blonde, sneering Slytherin boy who reminded Scipio of the obnoxious children that belonged to his dad's business associates.

Scipio himself was partnered with Neville, who he soon decided was probably the stupidest Gryffindor ever and had melted their cauldron not even ten minutes later.

"Idiot boys! Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape sneered almost delightfully. "Massimo and Longbottom, I suppose you added the quills first, didn't you?"

Boils started popping up all over Neville, who only whimpered pathetically, so Snape rounded on Scipio.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Massimo. I've never seen a more dismally brewed potion," he went on, causing several chuckles from the Slytherins, which only made Scipio's face burn hot with humiliation.

Reluctantly, Scipio looked up from the gooey mess on the floor and into Snape's cold eyes. The instant their eyes met, Scipio realized why he hated this man.

"I-I don't know, sir...I-I…It was Longbottom's fault…" The garbled words fell from his mouth like lead and the Slytherins laughed even louder.

But Snape only stood there, frozen as though he was seeing Scipio for the first time. If possible, his face had gone paler and his mouth dropped open…he couldn't say a single thing, transfixed by the boy's eyes.

The boy's impossibly green eyes.

No one was sure how much time had passed before Snape finally recovered himself.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor for your senseless babbling, Massimo," he spat harshly. "You'll take Longbottom to the hospital wing. Everyone else, turn your potions in. Now! Class dismissed!"

With that, Snape stalked back to the front of the class, determined not to look back at the boy who was angrily stuffing his book back into his shoulder bag and then started to drag Neville out of the dungeons.

_Stupid Potions…stupid Snape! I'm never going back to that damned class!_

He just barely heard Neville's apology. "Scipio, I-I'm sorry…about the potion," the boy moaned, trying to keep up with his housemate.

"Whatever," Scipio said abruptly, his mind racing too fast that he hardly remembered what Neville was apologizing for.

All he knew was that he wanted to kick something, or just scream at not being able to get Snape's condescending look out of his head. The same look that Scipio always got from _him_.

"Scipio! Neville! Wait up!"

In no time, Prosper and Hermione had caught up with them, both looking concerned.

"Scipio, what's the matter with you?" Prosper asked. "It's no big deal about the potion—"

"To hell with the stupid potion!" Scipio yelled, his voice a faint echo in the stone hallways.

"Don't shout," Hermione said quickly. "And slow down! You're hurting Neville even more. Oh dear, there's another boil…"

Grudgingly, Scipio slowed his pace even though his whole body was tense and ready to run outside. He needed some air now instead of listening to all this talk about potions, which he knew would only make him angrier.

"I'm sure this wouldn't have happened if you had taken the cauldron off the fire," Hermione went on. "Snape had written it on the board—"

Finally, Scipio snapped. "I don't care about Snape or your stupid nagging, Granger! Just leave me alone!" he shouted which thankfully silenced the stunned girl.

Her mouth was dangling open much like Snape's, but Scipio didn't hang around to enjoy the sight of a speechless Hermione and took off at a run, not caring where he was going as long as it was outside and as far away as possible from the man who was just like his father.

***~X~X~***

Once she helped Neville to the hospital wing Hermione hurried up the stairs, past Peeves the Poltergeist who tried to pelt her with chalk-filled erasers, and towards the office overlooking the training grounds which Professor McGonagall occupied throughout the day.

The professor had invited her by owl for tea since the first years had Friday afternoons off, which gave her something to look forward to. After all, McGonagall was the one who had taken her to Diagon Alley for her first real trip into the wizarding world. Not to mention the elder witch was her only friend here.

The door was wide open where Hermione could see the tidy room decorated in tartan plaid with various tea things sitting on a desk, and stacks of books on the shelves. From the window across the room, she could see the treetops of the forbidden forest. Dumbledore had expressly told everyone at the feast not to go into the forest and the Hermione could see why: even in the daytime, the trees had a menacing aura about them with their spindly branches looking like an endless collection fingers just waiting to pull their victims into the dark depths. Hermione shuddered and then knocked on the door.

"Come in, Ms. Granger," came McGonagall's voice. "Would you care for some tea?"

The professor was kneeling beside a blazing fire where a small kettle sat over it on a small stovetop. Hermione nodded as it whistled.

"I hope you don't mind if we have a personal favorite of mine. Please, sit."

She obediently sat in one of the chairs standing near the desk and watched McGonagall pour the hot water into two mugs. She gratefully took one of the offered cups and then watched in amusement as her host flourished her wand to make a small teabag float over and plop itself into her mug.

"It's very good, ma'am," she said after a tentative sip some minutes later.

McGonagall smiled, "I'd hoped you'd like it. Orange ginger was a particular favorite of mine when I was young and I like to have it every now and then."

Hermione nodded, wondering what it must be like to grow up surrounded by magic all the time. Was it that much different from growing up without it and not even knowing there was a completely different world just next door? Were muggles the fairytale creatures in wizarding stories?

"How do you like your classes?" McGonagall asked next, sitting across from her.

Hermione wasted no time telling the woman all about her first week only pausing once to take a bite of the biscuits offered.

By the time she talked about this morning's mishap in Potions, she was out of breath.

"Yes, well, Professor Snape is a very strict teacher, but one of the best potioneers I've met," McGonagall said, though her lip seemed to tighten at the mere mention of the man.

"He didn't bother me much since I did my potion correctly…unlike Scipio Massimo," Hermione replied in a huff.

"And which one is Scipio Massimo?"

Again, McGonagall patiently sat through Hermione's frantic tirade about her fellow housemate, raising a thin eyebrow as the girl came to the end of it.

"…And then he tried to put all the blame on poor Neville and yelled at me for trying to give him advice about his potion. He acts like he's the best wizard, but he's never casted a correct spell. He's just so…so…" Unable to think of an appropriate word, Hermione settled on taking an angry sip from her tea.

By now, McGonagall was trying to hide the barest hint of the smile teasing at her lips.

"Well, Hermione," she began, straight-faced again. "Boys…will be boys. Especially at your age."

"Yes, but his friend, Prosper Lawson, is the exact opposite. He's actually quite nice and I don't understand how he can be friends with someone like Scipio," Hermione argued, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't worry about him, Hermione. But if he bothers you, feel free to come to me. I'm sure your other friends are much nicer and that's what counts," McGonagall said sagely.

Biting her bottom lip and not meeting the witch's eyes, Hermione nodded. She became decidedly quiet after that, letting a comfortable silence settle into the tiny room. The other half of her attention was on the dark though that refused to leave her mind: _What friends?_

It was something she couldn't bring herself to confide in McGonagall about because that would bring the reality home. Nobody wanted anything to do with the bushy-haired know-it-all. Well, nobody except her roommates, but that was usually when they wanted help with their homework. Hermione let out a quiet sigh but then quickly shook it off, deciding to distract herself with a new conversation for the professor to explain things about the magical world to her.

Throughout their chat, McGonagall allowed her smile to show more often unable to help it around the inquisitive young girl. It was the teachers' duties to be available to the students as much as possible, but the Gryffindor girl was already making a special place in her heart that she was rather glad Hermione had decided to latch onto her for support as she learned more about what it meant to be a witch. She would no doubt face some prejudices due to her being a muggleborn, but McGonagall was already certain (and mostly hoped) that the bold pre-teen would hardly be deterred by them.

_Just like Lily…_

The wistful thought settled in her mind long after Hermione had finished her tea and departed from her office. Once the door closed and left the elder witch alone, she finally let the sad smile spread across her face now that she was lost in old memories.

It had been ten years, but she knew she would never forget her previous students during that dark time. All the new, young faces only served to remind her since most of the children looked like their parents who she had taught before and so on.

But the Potters…That was a tragedy that would never leave her.

Removing her glasses, McGonagall dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief while taking a steadying breath. She looked ahead at the door and mused on Hermione's words again about this Scipio Massimo. Already, she decided to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't give the girl too much trouble. But still…a small, bittersweet chuckle escaped Minerva McGonagall.

_Yes, exactly like Lily and James…_

***~X~X~***

At last Prosper found Scipio by the lake.

He was surprised to see that the normally curious and overconfident boy now seemed so small with his knees drawn to his chest so he made a tight ball—as if he thought he could fold into himself and be as far away as possible from whatever was bothering him.

"Don't sneak up on me!" Scipio snapped suddenly, yet remained unmoving from his current position. Prosper froze, half startled by the harshness of his friend's tone and half surprised that Scipio had heard him coming.

"S-Sorry," Prosper mumbled, stopping his progression.

Scipio gave a heavy sigh. "Forget about it."

"Scipio, are you—what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I just want to be alone, ok?"

"No you don't," Prosper said automatically. The words had fallen out of his mouth before he'd even realized it, but then he remembered that this was how he often dealt with Bo at home no matter how much he would yell and pout that he never wanted to speak to anyone ever again.

For the first time, Scipio turned to look at him—first with his most stubborn face, which gradually softened just before he turned back around.

It seemed to be working now, so Prosper chanced a step forward. And then another…and then another until he was lowering himself onto the grass next to Scipio. Neither of them said anything for a while, their eyes wandering everywhere except each other.

"Snape's like that with everyone," Prosper said slowly.

For a moment, Scipio didn't answer. But then he looked up. "I don't care about that," he said. "It's just…he…he's just like _him_."

"Who?"

"My father." Scipio spat the words with a venom Prosper had never heard from anyone before. "I hate him. I hate him, Snape, and my mom! I never want to…" But the rant died on his lips, his voice choking up. Yet he still didn't cry.

"Why? I mean, they're still your parents, right?" Prosper said into the tense silence.

"I don't care. He and my mom…they just treat me like a stupid animal, like I can't think for myself," Scipio replied bitterly.

The two boys fell silent again, watching the still water and distant trees. A passing warm breeze caressed their faces, the sky was cloudless, and the day was bright. But they didn't see any of it.

"My dad left us when Mum was pregnant with Bo. And now…she's sick but he still won't come home," Prosper said, throwing a stone into the lake.

Scipio looked at him, now with the same concern that Prosper had given him. "But he doesn't know that she's—"

"Who cares?!" Prosper cried, hitting the ground with his fist. "He's our dad and he should just…he should just _know_ when his family needs him! That Mum needs him more than ever now. If he would come home, sh-she'd…she'd get better and everything would be fine." He forced back a hard sob that made his chest shudder, then he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

Scipio cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Prosper…She'll be ok though, won't she?"

"Of course she will," Prosper answered at once. "As soon as I got my Hogwarts letter, she jumped out of bed and took us to buy my school things. She just needs to rest a lot."

Scipio wondered if Prosper was mostly trying to convince himself, but he decided not to press the issue and instead playfully nudged Prosper on the arm.

"There you go, Prosper! And you just sent her a letter," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

Prosper seemed grateful for this because he actually managed a smile. "Yeah. And once I get home this summer, we'll move to Venice like she promised."

"Exactly! And then we'll be neighbors where we can practice our magic. And once we become the best wizards around, we won't need our stupid dads for anything!"

By this point, both boys were grinning wildly at their fantasy and it wasn't long before they were laughing, letting their misery drift to the far back corners of their minds.


	4. Chapter 4

**In response to Nimrodel626, I guess I should explain why Scipio isn't the nicest character **_**yet**_**.**

**Even though he does his best to rebel against his jerk father, I would think that Scipio still grows up pretty spoiled and I can't picture any of his nannies ever really scolding him for doing something wrong. I definitely plan for him to get better, especially if he's friends with Prosper. I think he's a lot like James Potter would've been at that age so, ironically, he's more like his **_**real**_** father without even realizing it.**

**If you guys have any other questions, let me know.**

**Hope you enjoy and Happy Thanksgiving to all the US readers! Thanks for stopping by!**

**Word count: 4553**

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The next morning was nice and lazy for the whole school except Scipio and Prosper. They had managed to sleep in but once they were awake and down in the Great Hall for breakfast, they were eagerly going over a list of spells they had come up with to start learning on their own, leaning over their plates and speaking in low voices.

"We just need a private place to practice," Prosper said, "there's gotta be an empty classroom we could use, right?"

"Yeah, maybe up on the fourth floor or something," said Scipio.

That decided, they waved to a sleepy Ron and Dean who they passed by on their way out.

The classroom they found was perfect with all of the broken and unused desks pushed to one side, leaving a clearing in the middle of the room, and a window that allowed enough light to stream through since the torches in every corner were burned out. There were also some strange whispers and mutterings but it must've been some of the ghosts since they often liked to linger within the walls either bemoaning their depressing existences or conversing with each other.

The rest of the morning was spent trying to give each other Jelly Legs, Reversed Kneecaps, and attacking each other with dusty erasers. Scipio's own skills at jinxing were moderately successful, but still far from effective. Only once did he manage to shoot one of the erasers at Prosper who, to his great surprise, had reflexively blasted a countercurse which made it explode into tiny pieces. After that, Scipio immediately demanded for Prosper to teach it to him, but they could only attempt to blow up a few small objects before they became voraciously hungry for lunch.

Afterwards, they returned to practice levitating their quills and ink bottles. At least they found themselves getting the hang of it and felt confident enough to make their quills whizz around the room and even engage in a mini-duel against each other.

But by four they were completely exhausted—well, not quite Scipio because he had just enough energy to cast one more levitation charm on Neville's ink bottle once they were back in the common room. He let it hover over the poor boy's head for a few seconds before Prosper shot him a look even though he was fighting back a tiny grin himself.

"Ugh, I still have this transfiguration reading to do," Scipio groaned, thumping his head onto the table.

"And don't forget the history essay," Prosper grimaced as he fished around in his bag.

They silently exchanged looks before reaching a psychic consensus to get started on their homework.

Sunday went by in the same fashion as yesterday only they had to spend more time on their actual schoolwork than practicing the other spells on their list. In the evening, they finished their essays with Ron who also shared some treacle tarts with them that Fred and George had nicked from the kitchens at some point during the day. While Scipio and Prosper were impressed at the twins' knowledge of the hidden workings within the castle, Ron seemed rather nonchalant about it. This made sense since he grew up with them and had learned long ago to not question their mysterious ways.

And then it was another week of school, filled with tons of herbology readings and star charts for astronomy. At least they were starting to cast their first spell in transfiguration with their first task to transform a match into a needle. It was also back to studying vampire repelling methods under Quirrel and making futile attempts to stay awake in History of Magic.

***~X~X~***

_Dear Hornet, Mosca, and Riccio,_

_It's Scipio and I'm sorry I have to keep this letter short, but I have important business to take care of very soon. You can only guess at how busy the life of the Thief Lord can get._

_Hope everything is ok at the Stella so far. Here are some gold coins for you to take to Barbarossa to exchange for enough cash to buy yourselves whatever you need. Be sure to get extra blankets and maybe even a heater too, because it'll be getting cold pretty soon._

_Mosca, have you gotten the electricity working yet?_

_And Hornet, I want you to be in charge of the expenses._

_Riccio, make sure to let me know if I need to send any special items in case you guys can't get anything._

_Overall, keep safe and lay low for a bit. I'm handling enough heists at the moment that I won't be able to stop by for a while. I'll be in touch though, so don't worry. You can use the owl to reply to me._

_Take care!_

_Scipio_

Scipio was writing this letter Thursday afternoon in the Great Hall when he heard a loud crash just behind him. Looking up, he saw Neville on the ground and whimpering as Prosper went to his side.

"Was it Malfoy again, Neville?" Prosper asked with a knowing look as he grabbed Neville's arm.

Neville nodded meekly. "He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on. _And_ he took the Remembrall my gran sent me!" he cried miserably.

"Jeez, Longbottom, you've got to grow a backbone one of these days and stand up to Malfoy," Scipio said, taking Neville's other arm and hoisting the boy to his glued-together feet.

"Hark who's talking, Scipio Massimo," came a familiarly scolding voice.

Hermione came marching over with her hands on her hips.

Scipio only rolled his eyes, more than used to the girl's interfering ways by now. "Your meaning, Granger?" he replied coolly.

"You're not much nicer to Neville either, are you?"

"So? It's not like I've hexed him!"

Then Hermione pulled out her wand and muttered something. In no time, Neville's legs separated with a pop.

"It doesn't matter," she said, turning to Scipio. "Teasing and hexing…it's all the same."

Scipio scowled at her. "You know, Granger, I liked you better when you had your nose stuck in a book rather than other people's business."

At this, Hermione swelled up like an angry balloon, but whatever tirade she was about to go on was cut off by the appearance of three unwelcomed guests.

"Oh look, someone's managed to get Longbottom back on his two fat legs," drawled Malfoy as he confidently stood between his two bodyguards.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Prosper snapped. "And leave Neville alone."

"Ooooo! Whatever you say, Lawson!" Malfoy cooed dramatically, tossing the little glass ball into the air and catching it with one hand. "If that's what you want, then I'll just keep his stupid Remembrall for myself."

"No! Give it back!"

No one was more surprised than Neville at the forceful tone in his voice as he took a shaky step forward.

"G-Give me back m-my R-R-Remembrall, M-Malfoy," he repeated.

Once Malfoy got over his surprise, a snort escaped his lips. "You gonna make me, Longbottom?"

"Y-Yes!" Neville squeaked, his composure slowly crumbling.

"All right then, how about a wizard's duel? Wands only and no contact. Winner gets to keep the stupid Remembrall. Or are you going to chicken out?"

Neville opened his mouth to say something—anything—but only managed a strangled gurgling sound.

"Glad to hear it, Longbottom. Crabbe's my second. Who's yours?"

"H-Hermione…" Neville said in a bare whisper.

This had all three Slytherins cackling like mad.

"Then it's settled. You and the mudblood against Crabbe and me. Midnight in the trophy room. And you'd better show up, Longbottom, or you'll be really sorry."

With that, Malfoy and his goons marched off standing ten feet taller while Neville slumped to the floor, shivering like mad. Hermione was instantly at his side, trying to fan some cool air on him with her hand.

"I'm gonna die…" he moaned.

"What were you _thinking_, Neville?" Prosper cried.

Scipio didn't know whether to laugh or actually try to feel sorry for his traumatized housemate.

"D'you really think Malfoy could actually hurt Neville in this duel?" he asked Prosper later in the afternoon as they headed to the field where they would have their first-ever flying lesson (along with Slytherin).

Prosper thought carefully, but then shrugged. "I'm not really sure. I mean, I have heard of wizards dying in duels…" Scipio gave him an alarmed look at this.

"Nah, the worst they could do is shoot sparks at each other," Ron interjected, keeping pace with them. "Malfoy's all talk, as usual."

Scipio was eager to accept this logic, but Prosper's blue eyes were still bright with worry that he hardly heard Madam Hooch's instructions.

Scipio, on the other hand, had been dying to get on a broomstick ever since he saw the notice posted in the common room. Just think: if he had a broomstick, he'd never have to stick around for another one of his dad's stupid dinner parties. He could just fly off in to the night and go wherever he wanted.

"Well, get on with it!" Madam Hooch barked. "Stand by a broomstick, stick your hand over it and say 'Up!' And put a bit of force into the command."

"Up!" Scipio shouted at once. And his broom shot up into his hand.

"Very good, Massimo. Three points to Gryffindor," said Madam Hooch approvingly.

Scipio grinned, turning to Prosper.

"Beat that, Lawson."

"Watch me," Prosper retorted defiantly. It took him two shouts before his broom slowly hovered into the air making him glare halfheartedly at Scipio, who was cracking up. Yet Hermione's bossy tone had little effect on her stubborn broom, which only rolled around on the ground; and Neville's hadn't moved at all.

"Everyone has their brooms now? Good. Now, mount them and when I count to three, kick off the ground and—_BOY!_ Get back here!"

Neville, in all his panic, had kicked too early—and too hard. He shot up into the air like a bullet, screaming for dear life the whole time, until he slid sideways off the broom and crashed back to the ground with a nasty crack everyone could hear.

Scipio, Prosper, and Hermione were about to run to his side, but Madam Hooch was already there trying to calm him down while murmuring "looks like a broken wrist." As soon as she had warned everyone to stay off their brooms until she returned and steered Neville off to the hospital wing, Malfoy howled with laughter.

"Did you see his face? The great lump!" he hooted to his band of cronies.

"No, Prosper!" Scipio hissed at his furious friend, yanking Prosper onto the grass by the hood of his robe. "Don't even bother with them."

Prosper bit his lip and tried to calm down, clenching his fists into the grass. "Scipio, aren't you…aren't you at least a _little_ worried about Neville?" he asked.

Scipio groaned, throwing his hands up.

"Come off it, Prop! You heard Ron: the worst he and Malfoy could do to each other is shoot sparks or something, right? And besides, Neville's can't duel anybody with his wrist broken now."

Prosper perked up at that. ""You're right! He'll be in the hospital wing all night at least." But then a frown returned to his face. "Still…how are we going to get his Remembrall back?"

"_We?_ You can't be serious? I'm sure his grandmother can send him another one. And no one told him to go pick a duel with Malfoy."

"Well no, but we told him to stand up for himself—"

"So, you're basically saying it's my fault?" Scipio snapped, his voice rising.

"No! I'm just saying that…that Neville needs help, Scipio and Malfoy shouldn't be allowed to get away with being such a jerk."

With that, Prosper jumped back on his feet and marched towards the blonde Slytherin with Scipio scrambling after him and muttering swears.

"Why do you have to pick on Neville all the time?" Prosper said evenly as he came up to the Slytherins. "Just shut up, Malfoy, and give back the Remembrall."

Everyone gathered in closely as Malfoy and his two goons smiled nastily at the lone Gryffindor.

"And whose going to make me, Lawson? _You?_" Malfoy sneered delightfully. Then he pulled the Remembrall out of his pocket. "How about I leave it up a tree for Longbottom's fat ass!"

"Give it here!" Prosper yelled.

He made a grab for the glass ball, but Goyle stepped up and shoved Prosper that he hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

"Oi! Back off, gorilla-face!" Scipio lunged at him, slamming his shoulder into Goyle's chest. Due to Scipio's scrawniness, the attack didn't have much effect but it still sent the larger boy stumbling back a little bit. This caused the rest of the crowd to become restless and start shouting.

"Get him, Prosper!" cheered Ron.

"Don't you dare hurt Draco!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson.

"No! Madam Hooch told us to stay put—you'll get us all into trouble," cried Hermione.

But Prosper ignored her and got to his feet, throwing a wild swing at Crabbe who was closing in on him.

Scipio didn't have any time to be impressed with his friend because Goyle had recovered and grabbed him by the front of his shirt and flung him off to the side, sending him crashing into Malfoy.

"Watch it, Goyle!" Malfoy yelped, shoving Scipio away.

Meanwhile, Prosper was getting ready for another charge from Crabbe when a strong hand caught the scruff of his shirt.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" bellowed Madam Hooch. "You hooligans, stand fast!"

Scipio's neck was now caught in a quashing headlock under Goyle's smelly armpits until he was immediately released. Everyone else went deathly silent, holding their breaths in anticipation.

"Brawling like muggles, really!" the lady fumed, "I think a detention is in order for the lot of you!"

"But they—"

"Silence, Massimo. And I'll take back those three points from earlier as well! Now, you four are dismissed from this class—go on!"

Realizing that no kind of reasoning would change the stern woman's mind, Scipio and the other boys started trudging back to the castle dragging their brooms behind him.

***~X~X~***

"Here ya go, Neville." In one smooth motion, Scipio pulled the Remembrall out of his pocket and tossed it to his housemate, who nearly fell out of his hospital bed trying to catch it.

Scipio rolled his eyes, unsurprised, but didn't say anything as he basked in the surprised looks on both Prosper and Neville's faces.

"How did you even get this back from Malfoy?" Prosper blurted incredulously.

"I have my ways."

Then, to Scipio's surprise, Neville lips trembled into a feeble smile.

"Thanks, you guys…I really owe you one," he said.

"Er..yeah, no problem." All Scipio could do was hope he wasn't blushing like a fool at the sincere show of gratitude.

Prosper only grinned and wiped the smudge of dirt off his cheek to make sure Neville didn't notice it and realize they'd been fighting for his sake.

"I honestly can't believe you two!" shrieked Hermione from the entrance of the hospital wing. "You're lucky we didn't lose anymore house points!"

"Ms. Granger, this is a hospital—lower your voice," warned the graying medi-witch, Madame Pomfrey.

Embarrassed, Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth and nodded in fervent obedience before scurrying to Neville's bedside where she was almost nose-to-nose with Scipio.

"Did you really need to fight them? You couldn't have just let a teacher deal with it?" she went on hotly.

"Wh-what? F-Fighting?" Neville squeaked.

"Yes, they did—I do hope you're feeling ok by the way, Neville—and they nearly ruined the whole flying lesson. I'm even more surprised at you, Prosper," said Hermione.

Prosper dropped his gaze under her scolding look, but Scipio remained defiant and scoffed,

"Thought you'd be glad to get out of flying, Granger, seeing as how you were shaking in your skirts this morning."

If he weren't so annoyed, he would've laughed at how red her face went yet it was Neville's meek voice that stopped her next outburst.

"B-But, Hermione, look. Scipio got my Remembrall back for me." He held up the glassy ball to show her, which seemed to leave her at a loss for words, her expression dropping.

"Let's get out of here already, Prosper," Scipio grumbled, breaking the silence. "We haven't got much time."

"Time for what?" Hermione asked at once, genuinely curious.

Despite that funny feeling he was getting in his stomach again and that part of his brain which hoped that she actually sounded concerned, Scipio snapped back,

"In case you forgot, Granger, we've got detention tonight. So you can rejoice at justice being served to us troublemakers."

***~X~X~***

"Keep scrubbing, Lawson."

_Oh shut your face,_ Prosper wanted to say, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

Shortly after he and Scipio had arrived for their detention, they'd been split up; Scipio and Goyle were off in a nearby bathroom scraping off bubblegum from the stalls and sinks (Peeves the Poltergeist's doing, no doubt) while Prosper and Crabbe polished away in the trophy room. They'd also been delivered into the care of Slytherin prefect Gemma Farley, a weedy brunet with a piggish face and beaver teeth larger than Hermione's. Thanks to this particular arrangement, Crabbe had gotten the easier task of polishing the smaller trophies. This left Prosper with trophies nearly as big as himself with the added bonus of scrubbing some greenish, fuzzy gunk seeping through the corners where the trophies rested.

Prosper did his best to keep his attention solely on the trophies, which helped a little in making the time go by faster, but he was getting sore from crouching on his knees on the stone floor and the constant circular motions of his arms. It was already ten o'clock too.

"All right, you can go," Gemma suddenly ordered one of them. Prosper eagerly turned around only to see that she was talking to Crabbe.

This made Prosper want to scream when he spotted that the big oaf had only polished three goblet-sized trophies this whole time and then when Gemma coldly barked at him,

"_You_ keep going. I'll deal with you and your little friend in a moment."

And with that, she disappeared with Crabbe out of the room. This gave Prosper the chance to throw his rag down and slump against the nearest wall in exhaustion, beginning to wonder if he should've listened to Scipio in the first place and just ignored Malfoy. Yet he already knew the answer and figured it was the curse of being a big brother.

Whenever some bullies picked on Bo, he was ready to come to the rescue and that somehow led him to always wanting to stick up for people wherever he could. And in the end, Scipio had helped him out anyway despite his big talk, which made him feel better.

A shiver suddenly overcame the young Gryffindor like he'd just stepped out of a freezer. At the same time a silvery and semitransparent man dressed in a prim, medieval outfit floated through him, barely hovering over the ground.

"H-Hey! Who are y-you?" Prosper chattered, hugging himself to regain some warmth.

Startled, the man peered down at him before giving a polite nod. "My apologies, lad, I didn't see you there," he replied kindly.

Prosper could only stare at him in amazement even though he knew he should've been used to all the ghosts hanging around the castle.

"Wait a second…you're Nearly Headless Nick, aren't you? Gryffindor's house ghost?" he said, realization dawning on him finally.

The man's face fell to a slight frown as he stiffly crossed his arms across his chest.

"I do not appreciate that name, thank you very much," he retorted, "I'm Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. And I see you're a Gryffindor yourself. First year, correct?"

"Erm..y-yes, sir. I'm Prosper Lawson. Sorry about that, Sir Nicholas."

This brought a rather pleased look back to the ghost's face. "No harm done, m'boy. You can even call me Nick if you prefer," he said cheerily. "But isn't it a bit late for you to be down here all alone?"

"I've got detention," Prosper answered with a resigned shrug. "My friend, Scipio, and I—"

"Prosper, you in here?" It was Scipio slipping into the room on silent feet.

He was really good at doing that, Prosper had noticed, always managing to be invisible at the right times. Not to mention his odd talent for stealing things.

"And would this be Scipio?" Prosper nodded. "This is excellent! I've actually been looking for you two," Nick said animatedly (well, for a ghost anyways). "If you'll come with me, please."

The two stunned boys didn't follow him right away when he glided into the hallway, but figured there was no reason not to trust their own house ghost and soon caught up with him.

"So, why were you looking for us?" Prosper chanced to ask once they were in the stairwell.

"A friend of mine asked me to. He needs to speak with you."

Scipio and Prosper looked at each other, frowning with ever-growing confusion.

Many of the portraits littering the walls were half-asleep, not quite able to settle with the remaining lights in the castle. The boys followed Nick up several flights of stairs before coming to a dark empty classroom, where they had to use a _Lumos _spell to light the tips of their wands to see better. They immediately realized they were at their private training spot.

"Hey, we know this room," Scipio told Nick, who nodded.

"Yes, well, you see those desks over there? Do you think you could move them? My friend's trapped under there, you see."

"But can't ghosts just go through everything?" Prosper asked incredulously.

"But of course! Yet my friend isn't a ghost at all." He seemed to think that was all the explanation they need before motioning towards the pile of desks.

Reluctantly, they complied and were glad the desks weren't too heavy that they could each lift one on their own. As they got to work, the muttering they'd heard the last time they were here came back. And the more desks they moved, the louder it became until at last a clear voice harrumphed at them.

"There we go! It's about time someone got me out of there."

It appeared that Nick's friend was in fact a portrait—a portrait of a medieval nobleman with piercing grey eyes and salt-and-pepper raven hair falling to the base of his neck. He had set jaw that gave the impression of someone who didn't care for minced words and that everything about him was calculating and deliberate. The few wrinkles he did have were deeply etched into his cheeks and under his eyes. His portrait frame was a simple dark wood with a few cracks and splinters, which the man grimaced at as he examined himself.

"How are you there, Salem?" Nick greeted pleasantly.

"I suppose I can't complain, Nicholas. I've only been trapped under a bunch of bloody writing desks for the past ten years," Salem said sharply, smoothing out his fine crimson tunic.

Then his narrowed gaze landed on the two Gryffindors, who had remained wide-eyed and silent, unsure of how to have a proper conversation with a painting.

"What are you louts gawking at?" he snapped.

"Come, come now, Salem, these boys just freed you. They seem like good lads," Nicholas cajoled his friend, unfazed by his gruffness.

"I would've liked it if they'd freed me the last time they were in here shouting spells for nearly three hours. Never once paid any mind to little old me."

Prosper swallowed and dared to speak first. "Sorry, Mister…er, _Sir_ Salem. We didn't know…"

"Yeah, next time be sure to come over and tap us on the shoulder to get our attention," Scipio cheekily retaliated for which Prosper elbowed him in the ribs. Nick was fighting back a smile.

Salem glowered at him in warning. "You've no idea who you're talking to, boy. I am Salem Lonemidnight, the dueling master of the eleventh century, and you will show me some respect."

To Prosper's horror, Scipio boldly stepped forward, straightening his posture to look at least a little taller.

"And I'm Scipio Massimo, a Gryffindor and residing member of Casa Massimo." Prosper slapped his forehead with a quiet groan, but he couldn't deny he was a little impressed with his friend's ability to express himself like an adult.

Scipio and Salem stared each other down for several tense seconds, before Salem allowed the slightest smirk to tug at his thin lips.

"Very well then, lad. Thanks to you and Prosper, was it? You've done me a small service, so feel free to be on your way," he said a little less rudely.

"You're welcome, Sir Salem. Till next time," Scipio replied before spinning on his heel and heading out the door.

"Goodnight, boys! Thank you again for your help," Nick called after them.

After saying goodbye, they took off at a run and didn't stop until they threw themselves into the safe havens of the common room where they collapsed onto carpet in front of the dying fire.

A lamp flicked on. It was Hermione and Neville, both in their pajamas and looking slightly concerned.

"_You?_" Scipio balked incredulously. "What are you two doing here?"

"We thought we'd wait up for you…since you helped me and all," Neville replied, blushing.

Hermione remained stubbornly reserved, but she tinged pink too. "Why are you both so late?"

"We were stuck with a stupid Slytherin prefect and the most disgusting chores ever!" Scipio moaned. His hands still smelled liked stale gum.

"But Nick helped us out and we got out of there as fast as we could," Prosper added, sitting up to cross his legs. Not in the mood to explain anything, they decided to leave out the whole event with Salem Lonemidnight.

This made Hermione shoot up straight in her armchair.

"You skipped out on your detention? That's breaking the rules!"

"That's not it at all! If we had stuck around, that Slytherin girl would've made us stay there all night," Prosper interrupted her before she could continue.

She still looked like she didn't quite believe them but said nothing in the end. Eventually she stood up.

"Well, I do believe you both have caused enough trouble for one day. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to bed." And then she turned to march up the stairs.

"Oh please, don't let us stop you, Princess," Scipio called after her.

This made Prosper punch him lightly in the arm. "Knock it off, Scipio. Why are you always fighting with her?"

"Because she's annoying," Scipio grumbled. "How can _you_ stand to be around her?"

"She's really not so bad," Neville replied softly. "She's always helping me with my homework and she never picks on me."

"Yeah, Scipio, just give her a chance," Prosper added, which only made Scipio roll his eyes as he got to his feet.

"I'll give her a chance when she stops trying to boss me around."

And despite Prosper's string of arguments that followed him all the way to bed, he absolutely refused to change his mind about Hermione Granger unless she gave him one good reason to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Wow, guys! New people keep joining up to read the story and I'm seriously flattered. I still hope you're all enjoying it. Thanks to:**

**Lord of Hell-1992, dreaming of rocketships, monbade, polkadotturtles, war sage, kanotsa, and Wizard's-Student.**

**Had to do some serious cram writing this holiday since November ended. I didn't make the 50K word goal unfortunately but only 23K. Nonetheless, NaNoWriMo was still a good challenge to get me writing again and I do plan to finish this year's adventures, so have no fear!**

**As a heads up, I'm going to have to skip next Tuesday's update. Sorry! I have final exams all next week, so I have to focus like crazy. Thanks for being patient and I promise to be back on normal schedule right after. Hopefully, this chapter is lengthy enough to hold you guys until then!**

**Also, are there any parts in the story where I do more telling than showing? If so, please point them out to me because that's something I'd really like to fix. Thanks!**

**Word count: 4592**

* * *

By the time October came to a blistery, autumnal end, Scipio felt more at home at Hogwarts than he'd ever felt back at Fondamenta Bollani.

Hogwarts didn't have marble staircases, priceless art, or dozens of maids offering you cookies every ten minutes, but it was the best place he'd ever lived. He had great friends, he was getting better at magic as the lessons became more interesting, and he was more himself here in front of dozens of strangers than in front of his own father.

Things seemed to be going well for Hornet, Riccio, and Mosca back at the Star-Palace, which greatly eased his worries. Really, his only complaint was Snape who now made a point at least once a week to remind Scipio how much he detested his existence. Scipio tried to go over this with his roommates, but they simply dismissed him.

"I-I don't think he hates you as m-much as h-he hates me," Neville said dejectedly and Scipio almost agreed with him given how often Snape tormented him in front of the class for the Slytherins' entertainment.

Of course, not one of Neville's potions had ever turned out right, but he didn't really deserve any more blows to his already-low confidence.

"Nah, he's always taking points off Fred and George. He just favors Slytherins more," Ron countered, and then quickly changed the subject back to Quidditch.

The one thing Scipio hadn't confided to them about was the burning sensation from his scar on the first night. It seemed like Prosper had long since forgotten about it for which Scipio was actually glad because he knew his friend wouldn't have left him alone about it had he really known what was going on. Heck, Scipio couldn't even explain it to himself.

Every time he entered Snape's cold classroom, he expected the pain to come back, but it never did. If he was one hundred percent sure, he would've brushed that night off as a fluke, but something kept needling the back of his mind that his scar had hurt him for a reason. If only he could figure out what that reason was. Until he did, he had to settle for the quick change of subject back to the wizarding sport played on broomsticks with the very first game coming up soon.

Not a huge sports fan of any kind, Scipio did his best to keep up with Ron and Prosper's excited explanations about the rules of the game and impressive statistics of how many ways a player could commit a foul while they wrote notes for Defense Against Dark Arts.

With their load of schoolwork ever increasing, they'd hardly had time to do anything besides study much less return to their training spot on the weekends. Usually, they and their other roommates settled for pranking each other with a jinx now and then which sometimes led to a stern talking-to from Hermione if she ever caught them.

"Why does she always have to bother us?" Scipio groaned to Prosper on Halloween day as they headed to their next class after Charms. "Can't she just be happy with Neville?"

"She bothers us because we're here friends, Scip," Prosper answered calmly.

"I am not!" Scipio snapped quickly.

But Prosper only grinned. "We kind of are. And I think even you want to admit it."

This made Ron, Seamus, and Dean all snicker causing a hot flush to overcome the young Master Massimo.

"No! What I would like to admit is that she's a pain in the arse who doesn't know how to do anything except flash those beaver teeth every time she wants to prove how much of a know-it-all she is!"

This made the other boys burst out laughing and before Prosper could open his mouth to tell them to stop, someone bumped into his shoulder as they hurried past him. Prosper only caught a glimpse of Hermione's face, but he could already see it was streaked with silent tears.

"Why'd you have to say that?" he snapped at Scipio, who only maintained the stubborn look on his face.

"So what?" said Scipio. "She'll get over it like she always does and go right back to lecturing us."

"That's not the point, Scip!" Prosper retorted angrily. "What does talking about someone behind their back do for you anyway? You…you're acting like Malfoy!"

That effectively silenced his roommates while Scipio bristled, clenching his fists.

"Don't talk to me like that. Take it back," he said quietly, but Prosper shook his head even though a part of him already regretted his words.

"I-I'm sorry, Scip, but you—"

Before he could finish, Scipio lunged forward to give him a rough shove that would've knocked him over if Scipio weren't so skinny. Instead, he straightened himself upright and looked momentarily surprised but then he returned the shove with same force that nearly sent Scipio to the ground before their roommates jumped between them.

"Guys, knock it off!" Dean cried.

"Yeah, this is stupid," Seamus added.

But the fight was over as soon as it had begun when Prosper stormed away from his friends to go find Hermione.

***~X~X~***

As soon as Hermione's roommates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, had told Prosper what he needed to know, he wasted no time and ran as fast as he could to the girls' bathroom. He heard soft sobbing before he'd even reached for the brass knob. After a quick debate with himself about whether or not to bother her, he finally turned the knob and stepped inside.

He just hoped no one would catch him; even though he was concerned for his friend, he really didn't want to deal with the humiliation of people thinking he liked to sneak into girls' bathrooms. And rumors had a way of getting all around Hogwarts in a matter of hours.

"Hermione…"

A sniffle came from the far end of the lines of stalls. "P-Prosper? Oh, please…_g-go away_."

Closing the door behind him, he disobeyed the plea to follow the voice. His chest tightened a little when he saw Hermione slumped in a corner with red, puffy eyes that only met his for a second before she ducked her head and continued sobbing into her knees. This only made him angrier with Scipio and his stupid ego.

Walking over to her, he sat down and awkwardly patted her back, mimicking the way his mom did with him and Bo. Of course, it was different to do it with a _girl_ than his own family. Automatically, Hermione buried her face into her shoulder and sobbed harder. Prosper sat there silently and waited for the sobs to quiet down to sniffling before he ventured to speak again,

"Hermione, I-I'm sorry about Scip. He was just being stupid, y'know. He's wrong about you."

Hermione shook her head. "B-But he's right! Everyone thinks…no can stand me!"

"So what am I? Chopped liver?" he quipped, which made her laugh a little so he quickly added: "And Neville too. He thinks you're nice. I mean…even Scip"— He hesitated, unsure that she still wanted to talk about his friend at this time.

"How…How can you stand to be around him, Prosper?" she asked, pulling away to wipe her eyes. "He's nothing like you. He's so…so…arrogant, spoiled, rude, and a total prat!" The outburst made Prosper laugh this time, relieved that she seemed to be opening up a little more.

"I dunno how to explain it to you, Hermione. Yeah, Scip can act like that, but…in a _weird_ way, he's actually all right," he began slowly, scratching the back of his neck. "My mum always say that the ones who act like they don't care, actually do. So I guess that's kind of how he is. Don't worry though, I'll give him a good punch in the arm later just to be safe."

And then they were both laughing together, their voices echoing off the walls.

"So, you ready to go back to class?" Prosper offered.

Hermione thought for a moment before shaking her head. "You can go ahead if you want. I'm not…not really feeling up to seeing any of the others right now." She ducked her head to hide the forlorn look that was coming back to her face.

"And leave you here by yourself? No way," he said.

"But—"

"Sorry, Hermione but you're, uh, stuck with me."

"Well…thanks, Prop." A small smile crossed her face.

Pretty soon they spent the next few hours chatting away, and even pulled out their books to start on their next homework assignments. They had just finished their essays on the Werewolf Code of Conduct when both of their stomachs growled.

"Wow…" Prosper mumbled. "Look at the time. I bet the Halloween feast is starting soon, huh?"

Hermione patted her own stomach. "Maybe…I guess we ought to get go—"

She was cut off by another loud growling sound.

Prosper laughed at this. "You must be _really_ hungry, Hermione."

"Um, Prosper…"

"Yeah?"

"Th-that…that wasn't me…"

***~X~X~***

When Scipio joined his roommates in the Great Hall, he almost forgot entirely about being angry with Prosper. The decorations were amazing and there was more than enough food and sweets filling the house tables. It was a far grander celebration that not even his father's best dinner parties could compete with.

If Prosper wanted to miss _this_ to be with Hermione then let him, Scipio decided even though he cast another look towards the entrance as he sat down beside Dean.

"You may all tuck in!" Dumbledore called cheerfully.

No one needed to be told twice and the festivities were underway in a joyous uproar of conversation and laughter. Scipio tried to eat but it was hard when he was so busy laughing at the antics of Fred and George along with the rest of Gryffindor table.

But then Professor Quirrel came dashing into the hall, his turban falling over his horrified face. Everyone stared as he stopped at the staff table, gasping desperately,

"TROLL—IN THE DUNGEONS—thought you ought to know." Then he fainted.

Screams erupted all around and people started climbing over each other to be one of the first ones out of the hall. It took a series of loud, purple firecrackers exploding from Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects will lead everyone to the dormitories immediately. Teachers will follow me," he announced calmly.

As everyone scrambled to do what they were told, a freezing realization overcame Scipio.

Prosper and Hermione were still missing.

Worse yet, he had no idea where they were. But then he heard one of Hermione's roommates frantically rambling,

"Oh god, Hermione's still in the girls' bathroom! Do you think she'll get out ok?"

Scipio hurriedly ducked low and pushed his way through the sea of bodies until he was in the hallways following the Slytherins in the opposite direction. All he could think about was his hope that he'd get there before running into the troll. And how much he would hate himself if he got either of them killed tonight.

He stole down an empty side corridor and raced to his destination. As soon as he rounded another corner, he heard screaming and his heart fell to his stomach.

"PROSPER! HERMIONE!"

There, at the end of the hallway, were the splintered remains of a door on its last hinge. Once Scipio passed through the doorway, an overpowering foul stench hit his nose that he nearly gagged had his eyes not been about to pop out of his head.

It was a gigantic grey blob with a tiny, bald head. It held an equally huge wooden club that scraped along the ground with its thundering horned feet as it advanced toward the two horror-stricken Gryffindors, bashing the sinks along the way.

"Guys!" Scipio yelled, fumbling for his wand inside his robes even though no spell came to mind.

The troll heard his yell and looked around confused until it spotted him trembling where he stood. Then it lumbered towards him, rearing its club arm back.

"Scipio, duck! _Duck!"_ Prosper yelled desperately.

To Scipio, his voice sounded like it was coming from the far end of a tunnel as the troll got closer and closer in slow-motion. Then, as if someone had switched his brain back on, Scipio dove to the ground at the last second, the club narrowly missing him and smashing the nearest stall to smithereens. Bits of wood showered down on his head, which he tried to protect under his arms.

"Scipio!" Prosper and Hermione cried.

"I'm all right!" Scipio called back to them, scrambling to get to his shaky legs. "Just hurry up and get out of here!"

"No way!" Then Prosper ran behind the troll to grab a metal faucet piece from the floor, and threw it at the creature's head.

"Hey, stupid! Over here!"

Hermione quickly caught on and copied him, banging a pipe against the wall. Howling with anger at all of the clamor assaulting its long ears, the troll lumbered after her.

She felt her heart and body go rigid as she pressed herself flat against the wall, hoping to disappear into it. But thankfully Scipio dove forward to yank her leg out from under her, causing the troll's club to only hit air where her head had been.

"Oww…" She groaned before a sob hitched in her throat.

"Are you—"

Scipio's words were all but instantly cut off when the troll lashed out again and caught him in the side. He cried out painfully as he was flung against the opposite wall. When he hit the ground, his insides flared up in agony and a thin stream of blood ran down his forehead.

"Scipio, no!" Hermione cried.

His vision blurred and it hurt to breathe like never before. Hermione hurried to his side, panic overcoming her when she saw his eyes fluttering closed.

"No, Scipio! Y-You have to stay awake," she urged him, shaking his shoulders.

He cringed but he was regaining steady consciousness.

"I-I am… We h-h-have t-to…do s-something."

He forced his weak fingers to clasp tighter around his wand as he pushed himself into an upright position. God, everything hurt right now but he had no choice but to ignore it, especially when the troll set its next attack on Prosper who stood his ground, his wand aimed high over the creature's head. Without even thinking about it, Scipio did the same.

In perfect unison, the boys shouted the first spell that came to their minds. One of the only useful spells they had managed to learn so far outside of Professor Quirrel's lectures.

"_REDUCTO!"_

Blasts of blue lights shot from their wands and at the spot directly over the troll's head. There was a loud crack and then huge chunks of the ceiling plummeted onto the creature's head, killing it instantly. The body swayed and then hit the floor, making the whole room shake.

Prosper stood frozen with his wand still raised, staring dumbly at the large crater in the ceiling. His knees were knocking against each other and every part of his body felt clammy from the cold sweat overtaking him. Finally, he slumped to the floor allowing a hollow laugh to escape his lips.

"Stay awake! Please!" Came Hermione's voice once Scipio collapsed back onto the ground. Prosper jumped back to his feet and ran over to them.

"Scip! Scip, are you ok?" he cried.

Scipio coughed hoarsely, which only made him cry out when his side exploded with hot pain.

"Did you…Can you believe we just did m-mag—"

"Yeah, magic," Hermione sniffed with a quivering smile, using the edge of her robes to wipe the seeping blood from his forehead. "You were both amazing."

A yelp of surprise made the three children look up. Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, and soon Professors Snape and Quirrel barreled into the bathroom with equally stunned expressions. Quirrel looked ready to faint all over again.

At once, Professor McGonagall rushed over to them, paling once she saw Scipio's condition.

"Severus, go get Poppy," she said promptly before kneeling beside them. "What on _earth_ happened here?"

"It's…It's my fault, Professor," Scipio began through clenched teeth.

"No! It's mine!" Hermione interjected quickly.

"And mine!" said Prosper. "I should've made us leave earlier to catch the feast."

"But I was being a prat," Scipio argued.

"And they were just trying to save me—"

"Enough." Professor McGonagall said firmly, staring down hard at Scipio. Maybe it was the dizziness getting to him but he could've sworn she was giving him the strangest of looks. Much like Snape had done weeks ago. But he didn't care. He just wanted to sleep and make the pain go away.

"We'll talk about this later," she continued, "Mr. Massimo needs rest and I'm just glad that all of you are all right, despite your foolishness." There was a sharp edge in that last part, which made the children avert their eyes to accept the scolding.

Yet just as quickly, the head of Gryffindor softened her expression. "Forty points to Gryffindor for the bravery you've all shown. But don't even _think_ of making these adventures a habit. Do I make myself clear?"

***~X~X~***

Scipio didn't realize that he must've passed out at some point before reaching the hospital wing, but when he did wake up the next morning he'd never felt worse in his entire life.

Broken ribs, several noticeable bruises and scrapes, a mild concussion, and a dark purply-blotched shiner that made it hard to see out of his right eye to top it all off. But at least he wasn't still on the stone floor anymore.

Yes, hospital beds were definitely more comfortable, especially when you got to wake up with your friends at your side—as if they had never left.

"How're you feeling?" Prosper asked, folding his arms across his chest.

"Sore," Scipio croaked. As soon as the words left his mouth, the pain in his head seemed to double; it took him a lot of effort not to groan.

"You look terrible," his friend said, grinning.

"Shut up." Slowly, Scipio pushed himself up into a half-sitting position, gingerly touching his throbbing head where the cut had been. Madame Pomfrey must have magicked it away within minutes.

Hermione was here too and shooting sporadic glances at Scipio in between staring at her feet.

After a moment of awkward pause, Scipio cleared his throat in her direction. "So," he began as casually as he could. "You're alright then?"

She nodded solemnly while biting her lip. "Yes, um, I…you…Thank you."

Out of nowhere, she closed the gap between them and threw her arms around him. Scipio cried out in shock and almost lost his balance. Prosper could barely hold in his laughter at how red his friend's face had suddenly become as he clumsily patted her back. Then Hermione jumped back and smoothed out her shirt, her face just as flushed as Scipio's.

"Ahem…I'm glad you're ok," she mumbled.

"Yeah…er, thanks. Same to you," he said, running his hand through his hair. They all waited there, not saying anything and staring at their feet as they wondered who should say what next.

Unable to bear this embarrassing tension anymore, Scipio blurted out,

"Well, Granger, maybe next time you won't go hiding in the girls' bathroom when there's a troll lurking around."

Prosper only moaned with the anticipated pain he knew his ears were about to suffer, and covered them with his hands. Hermione's jaw dropped open for only a second before angry splutters started spewing from her mouth.

"Wh-WHAT?" she nearly shrieked. "I wouldn't have…if you hadn't said those horrible things—you stupid, p-pompous _toerag!"_

"That's no way to talk to the guy who saved your life!" Scipio retorted haughtily, tilting his chin up.

"Well, I didn't ask you to—" Before she could go on, familiar voices echoed throughout the ward followed by six bouncing shadows.

"Can we go in yet?" Came Ron's impatient voice.

At this, Prosper and Scipio exchanged grins, realizing that their roommates had come to visit them.

"Please? Th-They're not dead, are they?" squeaked Neville.

Madame Pomfrey sighed resignedly and allowed the students to enter. Ron, Dean, Seamus, burst inside like their lives depended on it, nearly tripping over each other. Neville followed close behind alongside Hermione's two roommates.

"It's about time you lot were up! We've been waiting _forever!_" Dean exclaimed.

"It's only been one night, Dean," said Parvati, who was Indian and quite pretty with her silky black hair. "How are you, Hermione?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for coming," Hermione obviously couldn't think of anything better to say in her surprise at her roommates' concern for her wellbeing.

"So tell us what happened," Seamus said eagerly as he plopped down on the edge of Scipio's bed.

All the visitors leaned in close to hear the whole story. The rumors were already swarming throughout the castle so this was their only opportunity to get the truth out of the three troll-slayers. Scipio, Prosper, and Hermione each took turns explaining last night's adventures. As they reached the end, they found themselves relieved that it was all over. And they found themselves holding each other in a much higher regard now.

Despite himself, Scipio had to admit that maybe Hermione wasn't as bad after all. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but he allowed himself to entertain the thought while he did his best not to seem like he was staring at her as she talked with Lavender and Parvati.

***~X~X~***

"So…you boys," Salem began, folding his hands under his chiseled chin, "have been slaying trolls, I hear."

Scipio and Prosper stopped in their tracks, berating themselves for forgetting that their private training room wasn't exactly private anymore ever since their detention. After the troll incident, they were both fired up to get back to their practice routine so they had done their very best to escape the excited crowd of admirers to get here without anyone following them to ask for another autograph…but now Salem was where they had last left him, regarding them with new interest.

"Don't you ever leave that frame?" Scipio asked, quirking an eyebrow. His black eye was slowly fading now and didn't cause him as much pain as before. At least he could see again. "All the other paintings visit each other all the time."

"Well, of course I do," Salem said gruffly. "It's much easier now also ever since I got out of those desks."

"Since _we_ got you out of those desks," Prosper muttered under his breath as he set his Defense textbook down.

"Well, look, we're about to practice some, so would you mind not bothering us for a little while?" Scipio said.

Salem shot him an irritable glare before waving his hand dismissively. "No need to tell me, lads. I'll leave you to your trivial spellcasting in peace. Why should I get in the way of mediocre education?"

Prosper did his best to ignore Salem while Scipio folded his arms in a huff to do the same. But alas, stubbornness is no match against the curiosity of two eleven-year-olds and the sneaky words of a talking painting.

"And you think you can do better?" Scipio retorted, which he realized wasn't that much of a question since _anyone_ could do better than Quirrel at teaching.

"Did I not tell you I was a dueling champion long before your time?" Salem answered mildly, brushing invisible dirt of his sleeve. "That textbook will teach you little more than childish jinxes. _My_ book, on the other hand…" He deliberately trailed off, smirking to himself.

"Your book?" Prosper asked, stepping closer.

Salem puffed out his chest, which made them roll their eyes. "_Overcoming the Opponent_ is a treasure for any aspiring duelist and one of my finest accomplishments. Stick to its curriculum and you'll be top duelists before you graduate."

"A curriculum?" Scipio asked skeptically.

"But of course. You need a curriculum—a focus on certain spells for a period of time in order to learn them inside and out—otherwise you waste valuable time. The first thing you should start with is a simple disarming spell."

The two Gryffindors only stared at him blankly.

"What? You haven't even learned _that_ yet. Woe is me! What is the fate of this generation's education?" he cried dramatically. "Very well, you'll have to look into the incantation in the book and then start practicing it."

"Can't you just tell us what it is instead of speaking in riddles?" Scipio demanded.

"I believe," Salem began patiently, "that a student learns better when he has to find his own answers to his questions. If you want to learn proper dueling, seek out my book in the library and start studying yourselves."

"In the library?" Prosper repeated.

"Yes, in the Restricted Section."

***~X~X~***

"Tell me again why we can't just get a teacher's signature and go get the stupid book," Scipio grumbled the next day, reluctantly taking the silver scooper Prosper had passed his way.

Gryffindor had just finished another Herbology lesson in learning how to properly pot plants to get ready for next year's workload when they would move to the greenhouses.

"Because it's in the _Restricted Section_, Scip," Prosper insisted, holding out a bucket for Scipio to chuck the dragon dung compost into.

"Hence the _teacher's signature_, Prop."

Glancing at the thinning throng of their housemates to make sure they weren't overheard, Prosper dropped to one knee to lean in close, speaking lowly,

"Think about it! Why else would a book be there?"

Scipio shrugged, nowhere near sharing whatever concerns his friend had.

Prosper sighed and looked him straight in the eye. "Because it could have dark magic inside it."

That made Scipio sit up at attention. The more time he spent in the wizarding world, the more he learned that there were just as many evil spells as there were good ones. Just as many evil wizards who used them too. He also kept hearing more about how this You-Know-Who seemed to have used every evil spell ever invented during the first war, which started to make Scipio realize just how dangerous he had been. He also wondered if his mom would actually tell him anything were he to ask her about the war.

"But…you don't think Salem would…that he's a dark wizard, do you? Dumbledore wouldn't let him even be here if he was."

"I guess, but…I don't know…Maybe we should wait a bit and not just take his word for it."

"Or we could do a little research of our own," Scipio suggested, suddenly inspired. "If he's such a famous duelist, he's bound to be in a history book, right?"

Prosper brightened as well and nodded fervently. That evening and before dinner, they found a table in the library and set to work with their research. Prosper had to keep reminding Scipio to stay on task and not be tempted to wander into the Restricted Section. The librarian was already watching them like a hawk.

Nonetheless, Scipio was glad for the distraction. It kept him away from thoughts of going back home for Christmas. Both of them would be but Prosper seemed to be the only one looking forward to it. A large part of him had wanted to be the first in line to sign up as one of the students staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, but he knew he had to go back to Venice to check on his band of thieves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Word count: 6350**

* * *

It was mid-December now and Hogwarts was covered in thickening patches of snow which made the inside bitterly cold as students shuffled along the draughty corridors from class to class. Leaving the roaring warmth of their common rooms behind, they all hunched into themselves and their robes to somehow stay warm. This proved futile in Snape's class down in the dungeons where anyone's exposed hands and cheeks became stiff as if their blood had frozen no matter how close they tried to stay near their hot cauldrons. The cold environment hardly seemed to affect the professor himself if not give him a malicious twinkle in his black eyes whenever he could take away a point from anyone who sneezed too loudly during his lectures.

Thankfully, the eleven-year-old Gryffindors weren't in Potions today but Charms where Professor Flitwick was teaching them a warming spell. Scipio could hardly focus on taking notes for the first half of the lesson because his mind was far too busy preparing for his return to Venice. There just seemed to be a dozen things he had to take care of by the time he got there between the orphans and dealing with his father. And that was when he wasn't busy scouring through a multitude of books in the library with Prosper.

He really wanted to learn more about dueling. He also wanted to stay away from dark magic. Yet they were still without luck in finding anything particularly informative about the pompous Salem Lonemidnight to decide if he was really the kind of instructor they wanted to learn from.

"It all pretty much says the exact same stuff," Prosper had moaned, throwing his hands up in frustration. "He was one of nearly hundreds of dueling champions at that time and that he was Salazar Slytherin's first victory before meeting Godric Gryffindor."

The only real interesting facts they had learned so far was more information of Hogwarts' founders and that Professor Flitwick had been one of those many dueling champions throughout history. While Prosper was keen on asking Professor Flitwick for help, Scipio was more convinced that they wouldn't find anything else about Salem unless they retrieved his book from the restricted section. But they still needed a signed permission slip from a professor to gain access and that wasn't likely to happen for a pair of first years.

"And what if Snape finds out what we're up to?" Scipio had argued, which actually made Prosper second-guess his own idea.

By now, he was becoming convinced that the potions master seemed to have some kind of vendetta against his friend. Enough of one to always find a reason to accuse him of misbehavior and have a disturbing twinkle in his eye when he did.

So after going back and forth to eventually reach a tentative agree to not let any of the teachers know what they were doing. This put them back at square one. They tried not to dwell on it much after this, which was easy enough with the growing workload and all the holiday cheer going around as their first break drew nearer.

Professor Flitwick had just commanded everyone in the class to stand up so they could begin practicing the warming spell. As soon as Prosper was on his feet, an envelope fell next to his foot and when he stooped to pick it up, a loud heavy crash sounded over his head followed by his ink bottle shattering into pieces. The room fell silent when he shouted,

"Kaspar!"

His owl was lying in a heap of limp feathers and shattered vials on the desk. Dean gingerly poked at Kaspar with his finger.

"I think he's still alive, Prop," he said.

Professor Flitwick toddled over, looking sympathetic. "Is everything ok, Mr. Lawson?" he asked.

"It's my owl, Professor, I-I don't know why…I think he's hurt," Prosper explained faintly, scooping the creature into his arms. He put a hand over Kaspar's chest and was relieved to feel that it was warm and still moving.

"Very well, why don't you run along to see Hagrid the gamekeeper? He's been nursing quite a few owls in a similar condition. I'll wait here for you to come back and collect your homework after," said Professor Flitwick. "You know where his hut is, correct? Past the greenhouses with the pumpkin patch out front."

Nodding, Prosper dashed out of the room at hyper speed. The absolute last thing he wanted was for something to happen to his pet. It only gave him the sickly feeling that if something bad happened to Kaspar then something was wrong with his mom back in Germany. A stupid notion, he told himself angrily, but his childish fears would not be silenced easily.

He was out of the castle and passing the greenhouses where Professor Sprout had a lesson with third-year Ravenclaws, and towards a small wooden house resting near the pumpkin patch he'd been told about. It acted as the only border between Hogwarts grounds and the forbidden forest. Prosper shuddered and then turned to knock on the door.

After some heavy footfalls and the sound of scrambling paws, a large, shaggy head poked outside.

"'Ello there," greeted the man, his beetle-like eyes looking down at the trembling boy.

"Er…um, Mr. Hagrid, sir? I'm Prosper and my owl…" Prosper blurted, holding up Kaspar in case the man couldn't see since his head was far above the ground.

To his relief, Hagrid pulled the door open wider. "Come on in. Make yerself at home."

Prosper only had a second to look around the one room inside with pheasants hanging from the ceiling and a copper kettle boiling in the fireplace before a large, black creature jumped at him and licking as much of his face as possible.

"_Back_, Fang!" Hagrid grunted as he hoisted the great boarhound away from the stunned Gryffindor who quickly used his robes to wipe the drool away. This must've been why his mom preferred cats—at least they didn't get drool all over you.

"All right, let me have a look at him." Hagrid scooped Kaspar into his colossal palms and gently turned him around to examine him from all angles before finally giving a diagnosis, "He'll be jus' fine. A bit disoriented from his journey with the weather an' all. Not the first time that's happened this month."

Prosper, who'd been holding his breath, let out a long sigh which made his host chortle.

"Why don't yeh sit for a bit while I give him a bit of a pepper up medicine? Tea?"

Prosper nodded and found an empty seat under a spread of newspapers.

"Here. Some rock cakes to take yer mind off for a bit," Hagrid offered kindly.

Prosper managed a half-smile and accepted the treat. That, in addition to Hagrid's cheerful ramblings about the upcoming Christmas feast, did ease his mind and nearly broke his teeth in the process. He politely refused a second offer.

"Well then!" Hagrid said next. "Yer owl will be ok in the next day or two, so why don't I show yeh a real treat to cheer yeh up? Follow me."

Eagerly, Prosper followed him outside where he went behind his hut to grab a great fir tree to start dragging up to the school. Prosper could only marvel at this amazing show of strength as he fell in a step behind.

They were on their way to the Great Hall when Scipio and Ron intercepted them.

"There you are! How's Kaspar?" Scipio asked.

"He'll be ok in a—" Prosper's answer was cut short once he caught sight of the splendid decorations of the hall. It had a silvery glow all around thanks to the tiny icicles, glass and crystal ornaments floating in midair or decorating the twelve Christmas trees lined around the room. Glittering streams stretched from one wall to the opposite which also had holly and mistletoe hanging from them. The boys were all quite enraptured by the sigh until Ron spoke first.

"Anyway, Prop, don't forget to go see Professor Flitwick," he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

Prosper slapped his forehead. "Oh yeah! I nearly forgot. I'll see you guys back in the common room. And thanks, Hagrid, for everything."

The gamekeeper smiled, and waved him off.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he made it back to the empty classroom save for the tiny professor who was rubbing a handkerchief over a small goblet-sized trophy sitting on his desk.

"Um, Professor?" Prosper said.

"Ah, Mr. Lawson!" Professor Flitwick chirped. "How's your owl?"

"Ah, Hagrid said he'll be fine pretty soon."

Professor Flitwick nodded approvingly before picking a roll of parchment to pass to him. Prosper didn't take it right away, his eyes staring at the trophy which was for 'Dueling Excellence in 1959.' His mind went back to the agreement he and Scipio had made, which he still hadn't been completely on board with. Maybe Flitwick would understand that they just wanted to get better at magic…Or he might simply know something about Salem.

"Mr. Lawson? Is everything ok?" Professor Flitwick asked, cutting into his thoughts.

Prosper shook his head. "Fine, sir. I was just noticing your trophy actually," he answered truthfully.

Professor Flitwick seemed to brighten at this and looked over at his prize. "That was a long time ago, m'boy," he said humbly. "Too long that I'm quite out of shape in my old age now."

"But…you must still know loads about dueling and spells right, sir?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Yet Prosper didn't miss how the tiny man's face turned bright pink, obviously pleased that someone was taking an interest in his past accomplishments. "Why so curious, Mr. Lawson?"

"No reason," Prosper lied quickly, mentally debating with himself all over again. "I just…er, was interested in dueling because Professor Binns mentioned an old dueling champion named…Salem Lonemidnight in class at one point."

He surprised himself by how smoothly the lie came out and started to feel bad at lying to his favorite teacher. Nonetheless, he bit his lip and watched Professor Flitwick rub his chin as his wrinkled his middle-aged face even more with a contemplative frown.

"I have heard the name. I do believe there's a book by him in the school library"—his sharp eyes saw the boy perk up before he could disguise it to look as neutral as possible—"but I'm afraid it's in the restricted section," he added quickly.

"Is there any way I could…read it, sir? Just for research," Prosper replied, flexing his fingers at his side.

"You don't intend on trying to perform any of the spells in that book, do you?" Professor Flitwick asked pointedly. "Attempting to use them on your classmates would be strictly forbidden, Mr. Lawson."

Prosper quickly shook his head. "N-No, sir! I was just curious!"

Mentioning that he and his friend were planning to cast the spells on each other might not have been worth mentioning at the time. Professor Flitwick took a moment longer to answer until he folded his hands behind his back, facing his student.

"I will trust you are being honest with me. However, you need written permission from a professor to have access to such a book and it's not common to introduce a first-year student to the books in the restricted section," he said slowly. "What I can do is use the break to read the book for myself to make sure there is nothing…inappropriate. I can let you know what I've decided when we return."

There wasn't any question of whether or not Prosper liked this arrangement, but he wasn't about to say no. This was the closest thing to success that he and Scipio had seen.

"That'd be great, Professor. Thank you!"

Professor Flitwick's stern expression melted back into its usual friendly one. "You're welcome. Now, run along. The holidays are coming up and it's no good to overwork yourself with _more_ homework."

Prosper nodded, thanked him again, and took off back to Gryffindor Tower. His roommates were in the common room with Scipio demanding to know what took him so long. Prosper only murmured halfhearted apology as he joined them. If it all worked out and Professor Flitwick did give him permission, he had no idea how he could explain to Scipio that he'd renegaded on their decision. But like the Charms teacher had said, the holidays were coming up. There was no need to fret about such a dilemma until next term.

***~X~X~***

Christmas holidays weren't that much different from Scipio's normal days. He'd wake up and find his father either locked away in his office or gone on a business trip, leaving him alone or with his mother. But even that was on rare occasions, so it was really just him left alone with a bunch of servants who pretended to care about him just so they wouldn't get fired. And every year, his presents were always the same: a fancy office desk set that he never used, and an envelope stuffed with a few lire. In fact, he'd given these things to the kids at the Stella: the money had gotten them started for the first few days, and they were using the desk set to write him letters.

He wrote them a short letter telling them he'd be coming to see them soon while half-listening to Prosper talk about his usual holiday routines.

"Bo is probably going to jump all over me and keep me up all night with questions," Prosper groaned, but he hadn't stopped grinning throughout the whole conversation.

For him, reading his mother's neat handwriting and Bo's sloppy squiggles just wasn't enough compared to being with them and hearing them loudly tell silly jokes. And intently listening to muggle mystery stories on the radio every Christmas Eve as they sat together on the living room floor with mugs filled to the brim with hot cocoa until Bo fell asleep an hour after his bedtime.

"Mum makes a bunch of Weasley sweaters," Ron explained, "and fudge. We're all staying behind this year though since they're going to visit my brother Charlie in Romania."

"Sounds like my mom," Prosper laughed. "She likes to make beanies for me and Bo. And make hot chocolate. She thinks eggnog is the worst drink ever invented."

"My dad watches the football games," said Dean, "and then he'll take me out to have snowball fights."

"My parents have snowball fights with _each other_," Seamus added.

Scipio was happy to let them all talk so he wouldn't have to explain what his holidays were like.

All of their families sounded so happy and warm and…like everyone actually cared about each other. Scipio had never played in the snow with his dad. Nor had he ever seen his mother humming away in the kitchen trying to make _him_ hot chocolate. She probably didn't even know where the kitchen was as far as he was concerned.

But it didn't make any sense!

He secretly knew his family was probably richer than all of theirs combined and he could have anything he wanted if he just asked. His father would give it to him just to make him shut up and to show off to the other rich families how much better he was than them.

Yet despite all this, Scipio felt like he had nothing. And all of that could just as easily disappear if his father simply changed his mind. If he suddenly decided that he hated having Scipio as a son. Or if he simply wanted to teach the boy a lesson, he could snap his fingers and Scipio would be on the streets utterly alone.

He almost broke his quill, clenching it so hard in his hand as he forced back burning tears. Crying wasn't going to solve anything.

He just had to stick to the plan: become a first-rate wizard, leave his family behind forever to stay in the wizarding world, and take care of himself. They could take away his inheritance if they wanted, he would survive on his own two feet and never look back.

Yet he was pulled out of his dark thoughts as soon as the boys agreed to exchange Christmas gifts early.

Prosper gave him a mini lock-picking kit that he could wear around his neck, which left the young Master Massimo quite speechless.

"Wow…thanks, Prop, this is the best gift I've ever gotten." And he meant it too, which made Prosper grin toothily.

"No problem. I know we can always use the _Alohomora _spell, but since we can't do magic outside of school and you're really good at sneaking into places, I dunno, I just figured…" Prosper trailed off with a shrug, then set to work on opening his gift from Scipio.

"Holy cow, Scip! This is awesome!" he exclaimed, holding up the leather-braided bracelet which had an hourglass pendant weaved into it. It was no longer than his thumb and had a swirl of blue smoke inside.

Scipio held up his own and the other boys' were resting in their laps. "I've seen my mom use them with her coworkers and they change color to let you know if one of us is in danger or late for a meeting…typical stuff," he explained. "I figured leather wouldn't look too girly."

"So it's kind of like a mood ring, or Neville's Remembrall thingy," said Dean, examining his with keen interest.

"There's a ring that tells you what moods to feel?" Ron blanched.

While Dean explained the muggle jewelry to him, Neville stopped by to give them his gifts, having overheard them from his dorm room. He seemed genuinely touched, if not as surprised as Prosper, when Scipio gave him _Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean _at the same time he gave Scipio a box of cauldron cakes.

"What?" Scipio grumbled, embarrassed. "It just seems like Herbology's the only class you don't blow things up in." He threw in a small smirk, which made Neville chuckle.

Prosper in turn gave Neville a large bag of chocolate frogs, which he shared with all of them as they continued chatting throughout the night.

***~X~X~***

Scipio stood in the cavernous foyer of Fondamenta Bollani 223, clutching his suitcase and secretly wishing that he was back on the vaporetto that had brought him here.

"Ah, you're home at last, Scipio."

He couldn't help but flinch at the deep, bored voice that echoed from overhead as soon as his father appeared at the balcony.

Dottor Massimo stood tall with his hands folded behind his back and not a hair of his slick, black hair was out of place. He wore a pressed button-up shirt and pants, and perfectly shined shoes. His eyes—so dark they were almost black—bore down on his son with distaste he didn't even try to conceal when he saw the sloppy clothes and unkempt hair.

"Of course it was stupid of me to think that you would at least clean yourself up for once, knowing you were coming home," he said, coming down the spiral stairs.

With a start, Scipio quickly tried to smooth his hair down with his free hand.

"S-Sorry…Father," he murmured in a small voice.

"Rosa," the dottore turned to the nearest nanny. "Lock Scipio's things in the storage room."

Scipio instinctively pulled his suitcase back when the plump, brown-skinned woman reached for it.

"B-But my clothes and school things—" Scipio stopped when he spotted a tiny vein pop up on his father's neck as the man went rigid.

"Don't you dare challenge me," the dottore spat. "I don't want anything from that damned school in my house in the first place. If you don't like it, go stay in a hotel for your holidays. Or a ditch, for all I care."

Scipio quickly ducked his head to hide his quivering lip, but let Rosa take his suitcase and scurry off in case the master wanted to take his anger out on someone else.

The dottore took a steadying breath and almost instantly regained his impassive composure. "That's better," he said. A pause of silence. "And what do you need to say to me, Scipio?"

Scipio only said the bitter words to get the taste out of his mouth. "My apologies, Father."

The dottore seemed satisfied with that, which made Scipio want to sigh in relief as he started for his room. Until he heard his father clear his throat

"I didn't dismiss you, Scipio, and look at me when I'm talking to you," he commanded.

Scipio froze in place and turned to obey, hating the very sight of the man who he would grow to resemble in the future.

His father continued, "I'm having a dinner gathering tonight with my associates from Prague. You will not attend"—Scipio almost did a backflip at this—"but will stay in your room and make no noise. Rosa will bring you your dinner, but you will take yourself to bed if you think you can manage that. If I see anything _funny _or hear anything to disrupt us, you will regret the day you were born. Am I clear?"

With each word, the dottore took a step forward until he was towering directly over his son with a severe look. Scipio tried to lean back, his eyes darting to the man's hands to make sure one didn't fly at his face as they sometimes did when his father wanted to get a point across.

"Y-Yes, Father. I p-promise to be quiet."

"I mean it, boy. You keep that nonsense out of my house or so help me…" He raised his hand and Scipio dropped his head, anticipating the contact and the sting that followed.

A small smile crossed the dottore's lips, glad to see his son's rebellious look being brought to heel. He dropped his hand behind his back.

"Very good. You are dismissed," he said, and then turned to return to his study.

Scipio didn't move right away, squeezing his eyes and teeth together otherwise he would've screamed for the man to go straight to hell. Soon, he calmed himself enough that a smile of his own came up.

_Don't worry, Father. I'll be so quiet, it's like I'm not even here._

***~X~X~***

"Look, Prop! Let's put these on too!" The small, angel-faced boy cheerfully held up the two glassy penguin ornaments.

"Sure thing, Bo," Prosper said, speaking German for the first time in months as he looked for an empty branch on the Christmas tree.

There were already more than enough lights and decorations on the thing that its branches were sagging, but Prosper just didn't care as he tried to make his baby brother happy. This was one of the many things he had been looking forward to doing as soon as he jumped out of the fireplace and into his mom's arms.

He sniffed the air again and quietly sighed at the familiar smell of beef stew—one of his favorites. He could hear pots clattering and the water running in the kitchen underneath the radio playing on top of their fireplace mantle.

When he and Bo were done their mom, Elaine Lawson, called them to the table for dinner at last. She was a petite woman with determined blue eyes, and blonde hair as wavy as Prosper's that was pulled back into a messy bun. With a flick of her wand, she floated their bowls over to the steaming pot and filled them to the brim before floating them back to the table.

"Hey, Prop, is it really true?" Bo asked hopefully, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at his brother.

"Is what true?" Prosper asked before shoveling spoonfuls of stew into his mouth.

"Did you really kill a troll at school? How'd you do it?"

Prosper spluttered, sending his food halfway across the table, which made both his mom and Bo burst out laughing.

"H-How did you—"

"Professor Dumbledore sent me a letter, explaining how brave you were," Elaine said, still smiling. "And that's a letter I never thought I'd get from him after only a month."

Prosper stared down at his lap, blushing furiously. "I didn't…I just—It wasn't like that…More of an accident really," he stammered.

But she only shook her head and sighed, "Goodness, Prosper, you and this Scipio cause more trouble than the Marauders did back when I was in school."

"The who?"

"They were a group of Gryffindor pranksters who"—she was cut off when a several harsh coughs racked her body.

"Mom!" Prosper shot to his feet but she waved him down while she caught her breath.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she wheezed, "stop worrying so much, love."

Prosper frowned, unconvinced. "But…you were coughing like that before school started," he murmured.

She cleared her throat and gave him a pointed look that made him reluctantly take his seat again even though he didn't once take his eyes off her.

"Are you ok, Mum?" Bo asked in a small voice.

Elaine smiled and reached over to gently run a hand through his curly locks. "I'm fine, liebchen," she said softly. "Now I want both of you to wipe those sad looks off your faces. You don't need to worry about me because Aunt Esther will be here on Christmas Day to help me around the house."

While the statement did in fact get rid of the boys' troubled expressions, they were far from smiling.

"Why does she have to come over?" Bo whined, scrunching up his small nose before planting his forehead onto the table. "The house is going to smell like stinky hairspray for a week after Esther leaves again."

Elaine snorted into her soup before fixing him with her most stern look, which was already failing as she fought back a smile.

"Boniface, don't talk about your _Aunt_ Esther like that," she said. "We haven't seen her or Uncle Max for over a year, so it'll be good for the family to get together."

"Do you think they'll bring us those silly pink teddy bears again, Prop?" Bo asked, turning away from his mother.

Prosper shrugged absently, his brows furrowed at the sudden announcement. He'd been wondering the same thing as Bo, but didn't dare voice his objections out loud.

Esther _hated_ magic, which was the main reason she hardly ever came to visit. She'd been like this ever since she and his mom were kids and was against anything unnatural or fantastical. Every time she overheard Elaine telling them the most elaborate stories about the magic of Venice or even simply reading to them from _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_, she would loudly complain that children shouldn't be encouraged to believe in silly wishes that never came true. And then they'd all stick their tongues at her as soon as she turned her back with her nose high in the air.

"Look, boys," Elaine said, looking directly at Prosper as if reading his thoughts. "They're only going to be here for a week. Aunt Esther's going to help me out a bit—"

"Why?" Prosper interrupted sharply, his eyes wide. "How can she possibly help out when we have magic?"

"You both know the drill: no magic around your aunt and uncle," Elaine said firmly. "Especially _you_, Bo."

Bo made a note of protest in the back of his throat but only poked his bottom lip out as her glared at his stew.

"It's not like I do it on purpose," he grumbled.

"I know, liebchen, but you'll just have to be extra careful."

Prosper, however, knew his mother was avoiding his question. And he didn't like it one bit, especially when Esther was concerned.

***~X~X~***

As soon as the hallways were filled with pompous laughter and business chatter, Scipio flicked off his bedroom light, slipped on his bird mask and buttoned up his long, black coat. He pushed his window open and stepped out onto the slanted roof and into the cool nighttime air where his breath came out in icy puffs. After leaving the window slightly open, he carefully slid down the roof until he reached the edge where directly below him was a slick, cobblestone pathway within the walls of a narrow alley. He latched onto a rusty gutter pipe and slid down, landing silently.

A stiff breeze bit into his unprotected hands as he took off down the dark, empty streets of Venice. There was an eerie quiet all around, but he actually preferred it like this. It was like the Venetian nights held all kinds of secrets from the world that only a select few were allowed to know about. Every night he snuck out, Scipio felt like he was in on the secret.

He turned onto the next street, which only had one streetlight to fight off the cloudy darkness. All the buildings lined up here seemed to be abandoned and loomed over him when he came to a stop. Taking a deep breath, Scipio tried to inhale as much of Venice as he could because when it all came down to it, it was still his home and often he couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

His moment of quiet, however, ended all too quickly when someone barreled headfirst into his back and sent them both crashing to the ground. Scipio heard a strange crack and, for a second, thought his nose had broken against the pavement but he realized it was actually the beak of his mask.

"OW! Who the hell—_RICCIO?!"_

The "RICCIO?!" in question was a full head shorter with wild, chestnut hair that stuck out in every possible direction. His clothes were slightly too big for him and quite worn while his rotten teeth poked out from his gaping mouth.

"Scipio?!" Riccio cried back in the same shocked fashion. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Scipio straightened his posture to stand slightly taller than his thieving underling.

"I should be asking you that! I told you guys I was coming to the hideout tonight," he said. "Why aren't you—"

"Riccio! Hurry! We've gotta go!" Another boy came running down the street, but Scipio almost couldn't even make him out because his skin was as dark as the shadows. Only the whites of his eyes and his lumpy red jacket defined his large form.

"Mosca, look! It's Scipio!" Riccio exclaimed, waving the boy over.

Mosca froze in place with the exact same expression Scipio was wearing.

"Holy cow, Scipio! When did you"—Before Mosca could finish, a shrill screech tore through the air.

"Over here! I heard shouting over here, sir!" called a distant male voice.

"It's the cops!" Riccio cried.

"The _what?" _Scipio roared.

"Just shut up and run!" And Mosca tore off into the nearest alley.

Scipio and Riccio scrambled after him, but then Scipio remembered his mask. Right when he turned back to get it, a bright light shone in his face and there were two adult voices straight ahead. Cursing under his breath, he spun around and went after the two other boys. Despite his short legs, he managed to catch up to them easily.

"What the hell did you guys do?" Scipio called after them, his face getting hotter more from his growing temper than the running.

Whether they didn't hear him or chose to ignore the question, it didn't matter. There were obviously more important things to worry about at the moment.

They skidded around a corner and down a new pathway, lit only by the moonlight. Scipio could vaguely hear the policemen's footfalls just entering the alley, but his heart was pounding so hard it was almost deafening and he expected half of the city to be awakened by it. How in the world had he landed himself in this mess not even twenty-four hours back home? He certainly didn't want to imagine the look on his father's face if she showed up at the front door in handcuffs in front of all his party guests.

"Not much farther!" Mosca called over his shoulder.

It took Scipio a second to register the familiar route back to the Star-Palace. In a desperate burst of inspiration, he started knocking over trashcans as he went and was satisfied to hear crashing behind him as the policemen tripped over each other.

The three thieves ran through the streets a little while longer before finally squeezing themselves into a crumbling brick alley where they came to a door sitting in the wall with a cord hanging over it. Mosca yanked at the cord and a tinny bell clanged with each pull. At that moment, Riccio turned to Scipio with a wide grin and passed him a squashed raspberry pastry that had been stuffed in his pocket the whole time. Scipio, who was gasping with relief, squeezed the pastry into mush and gave the smaller boy a severe glare that clearly stated: _No way are you getting off that easy, hedgehog._

Riccio shrunk back with fear and the door opened, revealing a girl about Scipio's age leaning against the frame. She had bright, defiant eyes and brunette hair pulled back in a braided ponytail.

"It's about time you guys got back. What took you so long?" she demanded, sounding very much like she was their mother.

"Give us a break, Hornet. We just barely dodged the cops not long ago, but we got the loot," Riccio answered, quickly ducking away from Scipio to scamper inside the theatre.

"I told you it was risky now and that they've probably caught on to you breaking in—_SCIPIO!"_

Upon seeing their mysterious caretaker, Hornet practically jumped on top of him in a tight embrace and nearly sent them both crashing to the ground.

"Whoa, Hornet! Calm down!" he cried in surprise. "It's, er…good to see you too."

"I would think so!" she said, pulling away with a slight frown. "You've been gone for ages! We were starting to think you'd never come back."

Scipio winced as he shielded his eyes from the bright light that suddenly assaulted them once he stepped into the Star-Palace. Mosca closed and locked the door behind them.

"Didn't you get my letter? I said I'd be coming over," he said.

"Of course we got it, but still…where did you disappear to?" Mosca asked, pulling a loaf of bread from under his shirt. Looking back at him, Scipio realized that there were other pastries stuffed inside his jacket, which explained its lumpiness.

"Don't worry about that," Scipio answered, waving a dismissive hand. "Even the Thief Lord has to keep his own secrets at times, Mosca."

The three of them walked down dimly lit corridor with a red-carpeted floor, torn and movie posters, and stray lamp wires dangling from the low ceiling. Pushing past a velvety curtain, Scipio stepped out onto a large, dusty stage set before a dimly-lit, cavernous room with endless rows of crimson-cushioned seats and an old-fashioned popcorn machine perched in a corner. Looking around, he caught a glimpse of several mattresses and blankets crowding the second floor balcony along with various contraptions such as a simple bucket pulley system, and scattered radio pieces.

"You guys sure have been keeping clean," he snorted, placing his hands on his hips.

"_I _tried to tidy up a bit, but could hardly get much done with those two off robbing pasticcerie!" Hornet shot the other two an angry look, which they ignored until Scipio whirled on them with renewed anger.

"What part of lay low do you not understand?" he snapped. "Do you want to get arrested and shipped off to an orphanage? How stupid do you have to be to—"

"Calm down, Scipio!" Hornet said, jumping in front of the boys who had become smaller and smaller under his telling-off. "Honestly we didn't have much choice since our cashbox is nearly empty."

"No way! The price of those gall—I mean, gold coins should have lasted you a lot longer than this," he said, frowning. "How much did Barbarossa give you for them?"

Mosca and Hornet looked sheepish and scuffed their heels against the floor. "One hundred thousand lire," Hornet answered meekly.

"What?! You've got to be kidding me!" Scipio cried, nearly jumping in the air with every word. "They're worth way more than that!"

"It's not our fault!" Mosca argued. "The redbeard's tricky and we don't know how to haggle with him."

But Scipio was too busy massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers and pacing around the room while wracking his brain for an immediate solution. The answer was easy enough: he would just bring them more galleons to sell off, but what was the point if they weren't even getting enough money in return?

"All right, all right," he groaned. "I'll bring you some more stuff to give to Barbarossa and then we'll figure out how to get you more money."

"Are you going on another raid then, Scipio?" Riccio asked eagerly, peeking out from behind Hornet.

"I hadn't thought about it really," Scipio answered, pursing his lips still in deep thought. "I'd rather take a break right now."

"But you can't! Not just yet!" Riccio protested disappointedly. "It'll be easy enough this time around since loads of people will be out shopping and hardly paying attention to their wallets." His eyes were already twinkling with devious pickpocket plans.

"You're not to do anymore pickpocketing this time, Riccio," Scipio said sternly. "I'll be back Christmas Day with presents and enough cash so you'll actually do what I say and _lay low_."

Riccio gulped and looked down at his pockets where he was pulling out squashed pastries to start nibbling on. Mosca chanced to step forward and hand Scipio a small chocolate cake dusted with powdered sugar. Scipio sighed and accepted it, finally letting his anger dissipate.

"So," he began a little more cheerfully. "Tell me what you've all been up to and then I'll tell you about how I saved a young maiden from this giant man who tried to club her to death!"

* * *

**Ok, finally got a proper update in! Sorry, I'm still a bit late on this one. Thanks for being patient and I hope you all had a really good Christmas and New Year's. As for the story, Christmastime is not yet over for the kids and will hopefully conclude by the next update. I would've loved to make this entire chapter the Christmas one, but I would've been even later with updating if I had. I'm just glad I finally got to write a little bit of Scipio's adventures in Venice.**

**Kairan1979, you made a really good point in your review and I honestly hadn't thought about it, so thank you for that! Now I have something to keep in mind for future reference.**

**As usual, if there are any mistakes or questions, let me know!**

**Thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read!**


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